The Lighting Parade
by BlindAssassinUK
Summary: Castle is forced to make a decision that sees him leave Beckett and New York behind. Can he let her go? Can she let him go? Multi-chapter story set immediately after "Always". "M-Rated" for language choices.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: Hello. Yes, I'm aware that I have an unfinished Castle story out there, but this idea popped into my head after I watched "Always" and refused to get out.**_

_**This story picks up where "Always" left us. There are no spoilers here. You can expect updates to appear twice a week, maybe more.**_

_**Before I skedaddle – JSQ, thank you loads for reading and for telling me things that encouraged me to post.**_

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**No Time For Goodbye**

The rain hitting the window felt like time running out. Each drop, each second, brought home to him that there was no going back. Not this time. There would be no last minute reprieve, no second, third and who knows how many more charmed chances. What he'd done made it final. And even if his brain didn't want to accept the truth of that, the stone cold heaviness in his chest told him better.

He finished his drink. The aged amber liquid no longer burned, the weighted-bottom glass no longer filled his hand – he couldn't feel anything. Not yet. Not until he was clear of New York. He sealed the padded brown envelope and scribbled her name and address on the front. He slid his jacket from the back of his office chair, grabbed the envelope and made his way out of his sanctuary.

Delaying the inevitable for just a few precious minutes more, he jogged upstairs and took a look in the three bedrooms that took up most of the sprawling apartment's second floor. He'd checked them over twice already, but just in case something had been left behind that was needed, he'd check again. Alexis's room stood bare, apart from the mismatched furniture that she could never bear to part with – this despite his many offers to pay for an interior decorator to make over her room in whichever style she liked. His daughter had refused to replace the too-small bookcase he had bought her when she turned eight, tired as he was at the time at seeing piles of paperbacks stacked all over the bedroom floor, or the dressing table that she could barely squeeze her legs under now, or the wardrobe that better accommodated clothing sized for a young teen. He swallowed against the lump that formed in his throat as his blue eyes scanned the empty surfaces, devoid now of the many mementoes that she held so dear. Turning away, he walked down the corridor, past the guest room, and paused outside his mother's room, which also was depressingly empty and cold; the flamboyant, brightly coloured and $400-a-roll wallpaper the only clue as to the type of person who had once inhabited it.

Satisfied that despite the urgency with which they had packed up their lives, nothing important had been left behind, he made his way back downstairs. He grabbed his car keys (not that he'd be using them any time soon), his airline ticket and wallet from the dining table and tried to steady his nerves and calm his heart. Using his free hand to pick up his cell phone, which he held onto for only for a moment, he let it fall to the floor with a sickening thud. Then he brought the heel of his foot down on the black rectangle, wondering as he did so, if it would be enough.

Outside now, and the rain continued to fall. Droplets of time splashed onto the shoes of his quick-moving feet. His fast walk became a run. He ran and ran until he reached the post office a block and a half away.

**xxx**

The sky blue ceiling, turned upside down, stretched below him, and despite wanting to race in the opposite direction, the jet skimmed its surface and took him away from her.

He felt a sob wedge itself painfully at the base of his throat. He swallowed hard and looked for distraction outside the window, but the tears were always going to fall. **Rick Castle** didn't even notice when the stranger sat in the first class seat next to him, having studiously ignored his silent misery for as much as he was able, got up and headed to the bathroom. He was spiralling into regret and drowning in reality – both, states of mind that he always worked hard to keep at a distance.

Reality, he learned as a child, represented a failure of imagination. He knew his determination to always spin a better story than the one he was confronted with, the one he lived, drove his mother nuts. He would often, as Martha pursued her acting career all over the country, return home at the end of another new school day with a split lip or a bruised eye, sometimes both, and instead of coming clean about what had happened, he'd deny her information and a chance to help him. Instead, he'd lock himself away in his room and lay on his bed, eyes closed, until the fantasy that took shape in his mind made the pain and humiliation slip away. He didn't fit in at school. Friendships had already been formed by the time he enrolled, and even when he managed to find one or two kids to hang around with, she would take off again, him in tow. It didn't help that he was a smart ass, with a mother who made it her life's mission to be 'noticed'everywhere she went and a home life more akin to one of the crazy soap operas she would sometimes land. So, when at the age of fourteen his mother sent him to Edgewick Academy, he grabbed onto it, despite the fact that he really didn't want to go. Yes, he had been lonely to the point of desperation, but at least he had constancy, and that's all he ever really wanted.

And for the past few years, hanging out at the 12th, writing adventures for Nikki Heat and shadowing her real life inspiration offered the type of constancy that made him realise that sometimes reality was better than anything he could imagine onto the page. But that was all going to end. Because tomorrow, she would know that he was gone. Tomorrow, it would be far too late for her to follow.

Tears stung his cheeks; his whole body was racked with upset and frustration, and because there was no sidestepping it this time, regret spread like poison outwards from his heart until he tasted its bitterness and felt its possessive fingers clutch at his throat.

Because tomorrow when she opened her mail, she wouldn't want to follow. The fact that he'd planned it that way made her inevitable disappearance from his life all the more painful.

**xxx**

The plane touched down onto the scorched, grey tarmac and the pilot proudly informed them that they were twenty minutes ahead of schedule. But what did time mean now? What good was the perception of time when you knew that yours had run out? Exiting the aircraft, the thick, humid air enveloped him – an unwelcome blanket that was impossible to shake off. And the much-too-bright sunshine made his eyes sting and water; all he could think about was New York in the rain. Home.

Alexis threw herself at him as he made it into the arrivals lounge; the chilled air inside a very welcome contrast. He hugged her back, tight. He inhaled the scent of her, felt her breathing against his chest and finally, finally, let himself believe that she was safe now.

"So where is she?" He breathed into her familiar, sweet-scented hair before bending down to her eye level and placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Outside. Holding a cab for us." He felt her much smaller hand work its way into his own, and he let himself be led from the blissfully air-conditioned terminal building.

**xxx**

They sat either side of him, his women, as the sparkling-white taxicab carried them away from buildings and decent roads and into the dense jungle of green. They bounced around on the grey leather backseat as their driver navigated his way deeper into the middle of nowhere. Nobody spoke. Castle held his mother's hand in his right and in his left was Alexis's, which he honestly couldn't imagine ever being able to let go of again.

Half an hour later, they reached the house. White wooden slatted walls, baby blue painted window frames and a double-width front door, also blue, rested atop a quadruple run of stilts. It looked like an oversized tree house. A tree house nestled against a thick wall of trees on one side and open to a beach on the other.

Still holding onto his daughter's hand, they together walked into the large house, which was to be home for as long as it needed to be. The windows at the back were all wide open, held in place by small loops of twine that fastened to the walls either side. The breeze from the ocean swirled around them, and for the first time since landing on the island, Castle felt like he could actually breathe.

"Did you take care of everything, Dad?"

"Yes, pumpkin. Don't worry. There's no need to worry _anymore_, okay?"

Her clear blue eyes looked into his, searching for the truth, and he wondered when his words stopped being enough for her.

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**_Thanks for reading. :)_**


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN: Hello. Just to say that the idea for this story came about because of a conversation I was having with someone about what would drive Castle to leave Beckett. I could only think of two possible options. This is one of them. **_

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**Chapter Two: Not the Ending We Wanted**

The crash of rain woke him up. Climbing out of bed, he slid open the glass door and walked barefoot out onto the decked area of the partially covered balcony. He looked out at the ocean and breathed in deeply the salted scent of the rolling blue expanse. Rain splattered against the sanded wooden handrail that ran the entire length of the enclosed glass balcony and sent spray up onto his t-shirt; he took a step backwards as the cold droplets made contact with his bed-warm skin, but he didn't go back inside.

He listened as the frenzied rustle of the leaves of the Kwihi trees which bordered the house along one side blended with the low roaring of the ocean, both now almost lost to the ever-increasing clattering of rain on the roof above him. He glanced back into the dark grey of the bedroom at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was 5:08.

It was tomorrow, and everything about her was yesterday. Yesterday she was close, across town, a phone call away. Now she was almost two thousand miles away and she didn't have his number, and he knew he'd never call her.

He pictured her signing for the brown padded envelope. She would undoubtedly notice his handwriting on the front, and he wondered if her first emotion would be curious surprise or concern. He had made sure to leave his letter (which he had marked: "_KATE - PLEASE READ FIRST_") on the top of the bound file of photographs, witness statements and scribbled notes, which hopefully would mean something to her. He knew the adorable crease that settled across the bridge of her nose would be in evidence as she scanned his words. The crease would turn into a frown as she read on. And then what? Would she pick up where he left off, or would she bury what they knew and try and live a life that would always be overshadowed by not knowing? He really wasn't sure. Beckett...Kate...had never been easy to read. But of one thing he was sure: she wouldn't seek him out. The few words he'd written would see to that, and he knew that no matter what, a part of her would understand that he never had a choice. It was the only way to keep his family safe.

**xxx**

**Kate Beckett** sat down on the living room sofa, drew her long legs under her and opened the heavy package, and as she pulled out the stack of documents, a white envelope slid onto her lap. She set the bundle down next to her - not really looking at what it was - and reached for the envelope. What was Castle up to now? Why hadn't he mentioned that he was sending her something?

His distinctive, flamboyant scrawl nearly stretched from one end of the paper rectangle to the other. She withdrew the folded sheet of embossed writing paper from inside and opened it. A few words in and her heart began to beat wildly in her chest. Not many seconds later, she reached the end of the note and despite wanting, no, needing to cry, she found she couldn't. This was why he hadn't shown up last night. This was why he hadn't returned her call.

_Kate _

_I wish I could look you in the eye to tell you why I'm leaving, but I can't. I can't because there's no time. _

_Montgomery's contact is dead, of that I'm almost certain. I received a package from him this morning. It was waiting for me when I got home after dropping you off at your place. Enclosed is everything Roy knew and everything this unknown man knew. I can only reason that he sent this to me because he knew he was going to die, and that the truth would die with him if he didn't entrust it to someone else. _

_I know you said you wanted to try and move on from this. I know you meant it. But I'm sending this to you because I have hope that it might somehow keep you safe. That whatever secrets lie within, they will reveal who you are up against, and then you will know how to hide, because you have to run and hide, Kate. Promise me that you will._

_They took her from me. They took Alexis, just to prove that they could. She's safe now. They kept her from me for less than a day, but you must know that we have to leave. _

_I know you won't follow. I know you understand that I can't risk losing her. _

_I swore to the man who called me to tell me that he had Alexis that I'd leave, that I wouldn't help you. I swore until I had no words left. But he didn't know about the package, and so I kept quiet. God help me, I said nothing. _

_Kate...I don't know what else to do, but I trust with everything I posses that you do._

_And now there isn't time to tell you of all that's in my heart. But please know that if I could write us a different ending, I would. I would._

_I love you._

_Always,  
Rick _

She read the letter only one more time and then re-folded it and placed it back in the cream coloured envelope. She wanted to feel more because she knew holding back the pain was futile, but her defences kicked in, regardless. And so she didn't cry a single tear. Instead, all she felt was the cold comfort of acceptance – as if somehow she knew this was always going to be their ending.

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_**I wonder if you agree. Would Castle leave Beckett behind if Alexis was threatened? I think he would. I also think she'd let him walk away. But that's me. Next chapter will be up at the weekend.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: Thanks for the feedback. Glad to know you don't think I'm way off base regards Castle leaving New York to protect Alexis. **_

_**This chapter takes place three months after Beckett receives that letter from Castle. Now, I've taken a liberty here. Castle's birthday is, I know, in April, but it suited my purposes to ignore that fact. **_

_**I dedicate this chapter to Laffs. Just because.**_

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**Chapter Three: It's the Small Things**

Castle walked ankle-deep through the foamy edge of the blue ocean. He followed the ever-receding curved path until he saw the summer house in the distance. He still couldn't think of it as home. And he knew, three months in, that his mother and daughter felt the same way. Home was two thousand miles away, and they were all missing it like crazy. Being in paradise only felt like paradise when you wanted to be there. Otherwise the warm nights, the almost uniformly dry and bright days grew tiresome, and the stunning scenery began to feel unreal, fake. It was all too easy to pick apart perfection when you put your mind to it. And with little else to occupy his time, that's just what he did.

He tapped the top of his Wayfarers until they slid down onto his forehead and then settled comfortably on the bridge of his nose. Even the majesty of a Caribbean sunset couldn't lift the solemn mood that had kept him restive company all day, all week. And so he did his best to ignore the warming reflective golden light that made the water at his feet sparkle. After all, when you've seen one sunset, you've seen them all, right? By the time he reached the house, the whole atmosphere of the beach had changed. It was quiet, peaceful. The sunbathing couples had all rushed inside their hotels and apartments to get ready for a night of good food, good wine and, if they were lucky, even better company. God, if he had to sit through another dinner trying not to give into the temptation to throw his fork at a neighbouring couple who were more intent on feasting on each other than the meal in front of them. It had gotten so irritating that he'd forgone meals out for the past couple of weeks. But tonight it couldn't be helped. Tonight, they were going into town to celebrate, even if, despite appearances, none of them actually felt like it.

He climbed the smooth wooden steps and flipped the latch on the double-width blue doors. The house was noticeably cooler than outside; the whirring brass ceiling fans doing their job. He called out for Alexis, but received no answer. Then he walked into the large kitchen and found it empty. It was when he'd tried every room in the house and still found himself alone that he felt an all-too-familiar fear rise up from within. He called out, much louder this time: "Alexis". "Mother". "ALEXIS!"

Running his hands through his hair, he tried to fight against the panic that had his heart thumping in his chest and his head awash with images that he never, ever wanted to think about again.

They had followed him here.

They had taken her again.

He ran back into the kitchen, grabbed the phone off the wall and was just about to dial the local police, when he heard the distant sounds of laughter coming from somewhere behind him. The garden! He hadn't thought to check there. He replaced the handset with shaking hands, and his shoulders sank and his broad back curved from the waist until he was bent over the worktop, as he desperately tried to pull himself together. She was safe.

Some minutes later, calmer, but with the bitter aftertaste of fear still firmly lodged in his throat, he opened the screen door at the rear of the house and made his way outside.

"There you are, darling! We were about to send out a search party", Martha said as she appeared in front of him wearing a gold pair of silken Capri pants and a gauzy orange shirt.

"Mother, you _are_ a vision." He forced a smile on his face, as he accepted her arm, and together they walked further into the lush garden, sticking to the winding white gravel path.

"Thank you. I try", she sighed dramatically.

"Well, if your aim was to outshine the sunset, you've succeeded."

"Hmm, I'm going to let that slide, seeing as we're celebrating. But don't push it, kiddo."

He pulled her tighter to him, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "You look fantastic, _really_."

As they reached the end of the path, he saw the homemade banner that had been mounted between two trees, and his heart sank a little more. He didn't want this. He didn't want to celebrate. Besides which, he was still very much on edge. And really, the only way he was going to feel better was if he locked himself away in his bedroom and finished off that bottle of scotch that he kept in his desk drawer.

"Happy Birthday, Dad!" Alexis said excitedly as she jumped out from behind a tree to his left, and with impeccable timing (after all, she'd learned from the best) let off a couple of party poppers to complete the surprise. The multicoloured paper ribbons shot towards him and settled on his head and shoulders, and in spite of himself, he smiled a real smile – a smile that only his daughter could draw from him. "Thanks, honey." He used his free arm to pull her to him. They were okay, the three of them. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't where any of them wanted to be, but they had each other. Considering the alternative, Castle was more than thankful for that.

So there he stood, holding onto his family, keeping them close and keeping them safe. The still-sinking sun bathed them in gold and orange light and a light breeze blew through the tall trees whose green leaves whispered above their heads. It felt like a whole world away from New York, and as Castle finally let them go, he thought, not for the first time, that this was both a comfort and a curse.

**xxx**

Kate was sick of arriving to work with the bottom of her pants soaked through. Damn weather. She bypassed her desk and headed straight for the women's bathroom. She did a quick check and was relieved to find she was alone. Staring at herself in the mirror over the sinks, she barely recognised her own image. Her eyes were glassy from lack of sleep, and the skin under each eye looked bruised and puffy. Her hair was limp, and not just from the rain. She'd pulled another almost all-nighter, and was so sleepy in the shower that morning that she'd washed her hair with shower gel rather than shampoo. Her skin looked thin, washed-out and her sweater looked a size or two too big. Jesus, she needed to get it together. She was falling apart, and the worst of it - she was still nowhere. The file Castle had sent her had opened up some leads, but they all dead-ended weeks ago. She had nothing, less than nothing, because she didn't have him.

She was tired of always looking over her shoulder. Tired of wondering if she'd strayed into a sniper's crosshairs for a second and maybe final time, and she still didn't know whether to run, mostly because she didn't know where to run to. Where would be safe? How far would she have to go? Would she ever be able to be still, ever be able to relax and live her life again, or would she always wonder if her next breath would be her last? She couldn't and _wouldn't _live that way. She needed to know from whom she running, because she needed to know if running was all she had left.

It was this realisation that made her swallow her not inconsiderable pride and ask Gates for her job back. Then, once she was done, she left the precinct and raced across town to Esposito's place. If he was surprised to see her, he didn't show it. Even when she showed him Castle's file, her face wet with tears, his face was expressionless. But when she finished, he told her that he'd have her back, no matter what.

And so they both served out their administrative leave. They both were told in no uncertain terms that the abandoned investigation into Johanna Beckett's murder and the re-opening of the events leading up to Roy Montgomery's death was strictly off limits. Then, before being cleared for duty again, they were both hauled before the Chief of Detectives, who made it abundantly clear that their chances of obtaining future promotions with the Department were unlikely at best. Then they started in on the file. But days, weeks and finally a whole month went by and they had to accept that if there was a clue within the many, many pieces of paper pointing to who was behind the murders past and present, it was lost to them.

Frustration burned within her like never before. Not knowing who she was up against not only was keeping her up at night, keeping her looking over her shoulder every time she left her apartment, but it was keeping her from the very thing she wanted most in the world: Castle. And she couldn't understand it! Why would Montgomery's friend send Castle coded messages, hints within hints…all of which she couldn't decode? Why not just spell out who was behind the murders and the subsequent cover-up? Why, when you suspected that you might die, would you not make it clear who was holding a gun to your head? It made no sense.

And of course, there was no Castle to help them, and no Ryan - their fellow detective and friend having transferred back to Narcotics in their absence. Beckett had been to see Ryan and had urged Esposito to do the same, but he wouldn't let her talk him round. Because when it came to it, Kevin Ryan had been the best of them. He'd put his friendship with them on the line just to keep them safe. And he _had_ kept them safe. She knew that, was grateful for that, and she understood that's why Esposito couldn't bring himself to look the other man in the face. It was shame, regret that kept him away. He hadn't worked out how to say sorry.

With a final glance in the mirror, she tucked her long hair behind her ears and left the bathroom. As usual, the 12th was busy, pulsing with activity and tension, and she was forced to sidestep fellow officers rushing this way and that as she wound her way back to her desk. Sitting down, she let her gaze settle on the empty chair placed to her left. His chair. God, she missed him. The three months he'd been gone hadn't eased the loss she felt, and to make matters worse, today was his birthday, which made his absence from her life all the more pronounced.

Last year on this day, he'd arrived late to the precinct and struggled over to her desk with a giant box of cupcakes and pastries. Everyone dived in, mumbling their thanks and the odd "memby happy weturbs" to the honorary cop among them while they shovelled the sweet treats into their always-hungry mouths, but she hung back. She wanted her best wishes to stand-alone from the clamour of voices. But before she could wish him a happy birthday, he produced a small box from inside the much larger one. He handed it to her, and said: "For you". She opened it, and inside was a perfectly frosted strawberry sponge with vanilla cream cupcake. Her favourite.

"You understand that the generally accepted practice is that you receive gifts on your birthday, not the other way around."

"Ah, I've never cared for convention."

She smiled down at the cupcake, her mouth starting to water.

"So are you gonna stare at it, or eat it? Because I'd recommend the latter – it's really good, detective."

"It looks like heaven in a box."

"So taste a little heaven", he said, meeting her eyes as she looked up at him. And then they did that thing that they did. The thing Lanie loved to call "sexy times eye-sex". Beckett wasn't sure the description was accurate, but what she did know was that devouring that cupcake wasn't going to hit the spot like it usually did.

"Yo, Beckett! We still got Daniel Lorne in lock-up – you want him processed?"

She jumped, she imagined at least three feet in the air when Esposito called her name from across the office. "Yeah, his alibi checked out. Cut him loose."

"Will do", he said as he disappeared in the direction of the cells.

She was doing it again – getting lost in memories of him. Maybe that's why she'd bought him a card on her way home from work the day before. Maybe that's why she had torn it open the minute she made it through the door and scribbled a message to him and sealed it up before reason robbed her of the opportunity to tell him how she was feeling, even if it was to herself. Because the truth was she missed him so much. She missed everything about him, even the stuff that drove her nuts. She had poured her heart out onto the space between the pre-written greeting and her name. Just five words. Five words that would never see the light of day.

"_I love you. Come home."_

**xxx  
**

As it turned out, the evening hadn't been as bad as he'd feared. Alexis had booked them a table at one of the local restaurants, one they hadn't tried before. The place was bustling with people, not many of whom appeared to be tourists. He recognised the stocky man at the bar as the owner of a boat rental place located a little way up the beach from the house, and the woman sitting alone to their right was the proprietor of a gallery he'd wandered into one afternoon a few weeks back.

"This is a great place, pumpkin", he said as he placed his knife and fork down onto his empty plate, his mouth now alive with the taste of garlicky jumbo shrimp and a heady mixture of spices, of which he could identify only one or two.

"Mary recommended it", Alexis said, referring to their housekeeper. Holding her hand over her mouth as she finished chewing the last bite of her tempura squid, she continued: "She said it's the 'go-to place' on special occasions. And, the best is yet to come...um...just give me one minute."

"What's she up to?" he asked Martha, as Alexis pushed back her chair and hurried off in the direction of what he imagined was the restaurant kitchen.

"Well that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

"Just tell me there won't be singing. I can abide most things, just not that."

"Oh, Richard." Martha raised a silent toast to her son, and took a mouthful of her red wine.

"I'm serious, Mother. If there's singing, I'm outta here."

"Fine. Fine. There won't be any singing. Just some juggling and a firework show."

"Funny", he said rolling his eyes. Nevertheless, he didn't allow himself to relax fully until he saw Alexis return from wherever it was she'd been with one of those domed silver-serving dishes.

"Happy Birthday, Dad." Alexis smiled as she placed the ostentatious covered plate in front of him.

"Thanks, sweetie." He lifted off the heavy lid to find a large cupcake, enough for three, hidden underneath. The thick pale yellow icing built into a peak atop a pink sponge base. He'd developed a fondness for strawberry and vanilla cupcakes after Beckett had let slip they were her favourite, but now, sitting there, the thought of having to take a single bite turned his stomach.

"This looks yummy", Martha said as she offered him a plate.

"It certainly does." He divided the cupcake into three and made sure to take a big bite of his own piece when both women looked to him for confirmation that yes, indeed, it was good.

"Well, what do you think, Dad?"

"It's good. So good", he offered, not telling her what he really thought, but the words buzzed about in his head all the same. _Heaven. It tastes like heaven._

* * *

**_Thanks for reading. :)_**


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN: Thanks loads for reading, reviewing and alerting. Again, thanks to Jen for the beta read. If there are any NCIS or Bones fans out there, you should check out her very fine words on this site - search "jsq".**_

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**Chapter Four: Every Day, Always**

Castle hadn't completely cut himself off from all that was going on away from their little island paradise. The New York Times and Journal were delivered daily to the house and his online subscription to the New York Review of Books, among other literary bulletins, kept him abreast of everything he needed to know in the world of publishing. And, yes, he let Gina have his burner cell number, just so she could call him at least once a week demanding to know when the latest Nikki Heat book would be ready in draft form. The truth was it was pretty much finished, but since leaving New York he couldn't seem to summon the will to edit the final few chapters. Maybe he'd just send it to the editorial team at Black Pawn and let them work their magic – he was certainly paying them enough to be useful.

Of course, the beach house was blessed with a giant flat screen in the living room and his bedroom-come-study came complete with a smaller TV, and he had his beloved MacBook Pro and his iPad (he was still crushed at having stamped on his iPhone) – it was true what Beckett said: he really did _"worship at the temple of Apple"_. And so he kept in touch with good friends and was still working (sort of), but despite this, the truth was that as each day, week and month passed, his memories of New York and his life there began to lose their vibrancy. And he mostly hated it. Stupid paradise - he had begun to relax and enjoy the slower pace of life despite his best sulky, obstinate efforts. He began to relish his days of not doing very much because it suited his mood. He was tired of keeping secrets and, although he'd never be able to admit this to Beckett, he was tired of digging into her mother's murder, which, despite the intrigue that surrounded her death, boiled down to the incredibly sad fact that a much-loved woman had her life stolen from her.

He was even, much to his surprise, tired of the constant pressure to keep Nikki Heat in amongst it on the bestseller list. He used to thrive on the challenge – he could write in golden ink, just the same as Patterson or Connelly – but ever since he walked away from shadowing 'New York's Finest' (because she _really_ was), his appetite for invention had taken a different path. He was still writing. In fact, he was writing a lot. Only he wasn't really sure _what_ he was writing.

That said, however, the one aspect of his life back in New York that hadn't become blurred when looking through the lens of time was her. Summoning the image of her face, her smile, was like switching on a light inside his brain. Everything became clear again. The memory of how she made him feel was easily within his grasp.

Every day he missed her. Every day he loved her. Always.

**xxx**

Four months and six days.

The urgent, blunt way she missed him hadn't softened as time moved on. The on-the-edge-of-panic feeling was never far from the surface, and it would only take the smallest, the most inconsequential thing to make her lose it. Last month, it was vanilla and strawberry cupcakes. Two weeks ago, it was seeing a poster advertising "Heat Wave: The 'Hottest' Movie Event of the Year" being pasted onto a bus shelter near the precinct. This morning, it was seeing a take-out coffee cup placed in its once usual place on her desk.

Her heartbeat had glided into overdrive as she exited the elevator and walked around to her desk, to find the drink sat there waiting for her. She quickly looked around. Then she picked it up, felt it warm her hand, and then she looked around again. Suddenly, she felt sensed the presence of someone behind her. She spun round and came face to face with Victoria Gates.

"Sir", she managed to squeak out.

"Detective...ah, good, it's not gone cold, yet." Gates nodded at the cup Beckett was still clutching in her hand.

"You left this on my desk?"

"I've noticed that you been putting in a lot of overtime lately and I wanted to discuss this with you. I thought we could talk now, over coffee, before everyone else makes it in."

"Um, thank you...for the coffee."

"Are you feeling okay? You're looking a little pale."

Kate shook her head vigorously, and told the other woman "yes". She repeated this promise two more times before their impromptu meeting was over. The end result being that Kate was ordered to use up overdue leave and to try and keep her future working hours on the right side of reasonable, where possible. Despite the kind, reassuring words, she couldn't help but feel that Gates' advice was self-serving somehow. No one wants a coming-apart-at-the-seams detective making you look bad, or worse, negligent.

Striding back to her desk, having emptied the barely touched coffee into the sink in the break room, she logged into her email. The truth was that things had been relatively slow for the past couple of months at the 12th. Bad weather tended to keep criminals and would-be criminals off the streets, and seeing as New York had been operating under a massive grey, rain-heavy cloud for a while now, she needn't have put in the amount of overtime that she had. But what was the alternative? Stay at home night after night pouring over Castle's file and her own notes – the sum total of both yet to bring to light why Dick Coonan had been hired to kill her mom? Or worse, stay home and think back over all the missed opportunities she had to be happy with him. No thank you. She needed to be around other people. She needed to escape the silence.

Since leaving the precinct last night, she had received fourteen emails, which she easily cleared by the time Esposito made it in. After checking in with Velázquez – the other woman having just returned from maternity leave – she then rode along with Esposito as they caught up to a big-shot financier who had killed his girlfriend when his wife threatened to divorce him after she had discovered the affair. Then she had lunch. Then she took a call from a lawyer whose client was currently residing in one of their cells. Not the financier, but a drug-dealing loser who'd stuck a kitchen knife into the neck of another drug-dealing loser who had the temerity to move in on his patch. Then she went home, which is when her otherwise humdrum day descended into a sad mess.

The burgundy liquid sloshed around in the large wine glass, almost seeping over the edge and onto the beige rug at her feet. She held his now belated birthday card in her hand and read over and over the words she'd written there: _"I love you. Come home"_. Why hadn't she found the courage to tell him what was in her heart when she had the chance? When she _knew _that he loved her back.

"_Because I love you. But you already know that, don't you?"_

And then she had questioned his commitment to her, questioned why she should trust him.

"_Because of everything we've been through together! Four years – I've been right here. Four years just waiting for you to open your eyes and see that I'm right here."_

She had tried to tell him that night she raced to his apartment in the rain. That night when she had told him sorry over and over and he had helped her heal. She tried to tell him with her touch, but they rushed, they burned, then they slept it off, only to ignite all over again in the early hours as they awoke wrapped in each other. And then in the morning, he drove her home, promising to come back that evening once Alexis had returned home. But he never did. He never returned her call when she'd phoned him later that night. Then, the next morning, she received his letter and more indecipherable pieces of the puzzle that was her mom's case.

The thought that everything she needed had been right there within her grasp for so long was destroying her. For the best part of a year she had hidden his secret inside her own as she tried to put herself back together, but never felt able to fix the part of her that hurt the most: her heart. She understood now. What use were all these feelings she had for him if she kept them buried out of sight. She had been too scared to trust in love, and this was the outcome, this was her lesson to learn.

Every day she missed him. Every day she loved him. Always.

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_**Ah, it's all so hopeless at the moment, isn't it? Erm…sorry.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**AN: Again, thanks for reading and reviewing.**_

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**Chapter Five: A Tale of Two Christmases**

Castle walked through the blissfully cool lobby of Hotel Tivoli and took his now usual seat in the library, which was located directly behind the reception area. The soft, worn brown high-backed leather armchair welcomed him, its padded wings cocooning him, hiding him, almost, from view. He caught the trained eye of a waiter who had just served drinks to an excitable, overly suntanned couple seated a few feet away from him, and asked for a whisky, neat. It was only when he'd taken the first sip of the warming liquid that he fully relaxed for the first time that day.

He'd spent most of that morning, that week, in fact, feigning obliviousness to Alexis's foul mood. The fact that he was the cause of her obvious unhappiness made the task even harder. But what could he do? She wanted to see in the New Year with her best friend, whose parents had hired a cabin in Vail for the holidays, and he had said no. The whole thing had blown-up last week, and since then, he'd been the helpless recipient of prolonged bouts of silent treatment, scathing looks that could kill, and the occasional pitiful glances. But he knew she would do as he'd asked. Alexis may have inherited his stubbornness, his ability to sulk for days on end, but she hadn't, thankfully, inherited his rebelliousness. No. She wouldn't be going anywhere. She may hate him right now, but she was safe. That was all that mattered.

From his chair, he could see the fast-moving colours and shapes of mid-afternoon shoppers and tourists as they passed back and forth in front of the hotel's glass doorway. He couldn't imagine wanting to shop in this heat. He could barely stand the walk from the island's main post office at the harbor, to the hotel, a mere ten minutes away. He re-directed his gaze back to the bronzed man and woman, who were now slow-kissing their way into his miserable disfavour. He ignored them as best he could. Sweat beaded his brow, and he reached for the white paper napkin that lay next to his drink and patted his forehead dry. This weather was crazy. Christmas Eve in New York usually spelled a crisp, chilly day, with maybe a blanketing of snow, but here, it meant 95-degree heat with very little wind to help take the edge off.

_New York… Beckett... Kate..._

The twenty-one year old Glenlivit single malt made for easy drinking, and he finished it quickly. The alcohol warmed him from the inside out, but thankfully, the superior, no-expense-spared (so he had been apprised by the hotel manager) air-conditioning had begun to work its magic. He ordered another. By the time he finished his third drink, his fellow patrons had moved on from simple, sloppy kissing and were busy racing over the line of public decency. The man had his hand most of the way up the woman's bare thigh, inches from disappearing under the hem of her short skirt. _Jesus._

He was just about to give up his prized hideaway and head to the bar across the street, when the woman whispered something into her lover's ear. Whatever she said did the trick, and the two of them left their half-finished cocktails behind and walked off in the direction of the elevators. He was thankful. There was nothing worse than watching other people be happy in love or in lust when you couldn't feel the same way. Also, why the hell would you do that in full view of other people when you could be up in your hotel room taking full advantage of the giant bed and seclusion?

Just thinking about a hotel room bed sent images of her racing through his mind - her smooth, lithe body which had arched deliciously below him, the soft caress of her tongue in his mouth, the feeling of being overwhelmed by desire and need. God, the things he wanted to do with her. But they'd only had that one night together, and he couldn't help feeling that they'd rushed, hurried to the finish line without really taking time to figure each other out. If he still believed in Santa Claus, he'd ask him for just two things: Kate Beckett, and time.

Jesus, just when they were finally on the same page! Just when she was willing to let go and look at what he was offering her! He wanted to share his life with her. Forever. As he'd lain there next to her, all those months ago, the moon dutifully giving way to its flashier partner, the hint of sunlight turning the bedclothes from grey to white, his heart had felt full in a way that he'd not experienced before. He remembered softly capturing her hand in his, careful not to wake her. He'd breathed in deeply and relished the perfection of that moment. Then he had closed his eyes and thanked his lucky stars that they were finally, finally, getting somewhere.

"Sir, can I bring you anything else from the bar?"

"Another, thank you", he replied shakily. Damn chair; it might offer privacy, but it also, unless people approached head on, left you vulnerable to being blindsided by waiters wearing soft-soled shoes.

Suddenly, the sound of his cell phone pierced the relative quiet of the library. His heart still hammering in his chest, he looked at the display and sighed.

"Darling, you realise that you have to come back at some point, don't you?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Well?"

"I'll be home soon."

"Can you be a little more specific?"

"Not yet."

"Richard, honestly, you put Alexis's bad moods to shame. Look, the salmon will be cooked in an hour and I've made the dressing and prepared the vegetables. I didn't slave away in this heat for nothing. Tonight, we're going to eat dinner together like the loving family we are, and then we're going to open our gifts on the stroke of midnight, like always."

"Sounds good." He nodded his thanks to the ninja-like waiter, who'd returned with his drink, and took a grateful mouthful of numbness.

"It _will_ be good, you'll see. Just come home."

"How is she?"

"Better."

"Really?"

"Yes. She's hurt and angry, but she loves you, and she respects why you don't want her to go, but it's tough on her."

"I know it is. God, I know it is, and it's all my fault."

"There's no point going down that road. You need…"

"What I _need _is to make it better, for all of us. But how can I? We can't go back to New York, not until its safe."

"How do you know it isn't safe? Have you called her, even once?"

"No."

"Then how do you know?"

"Because I _know_. I've spent every day since we left New York scouring newspapers and online news articles for the slightest mention of her or of the Twelfth. Nothing. This tells me that she's okay, alive, but also that whoever wants her to stop looking into her mother's murder is still out there somewhere, watching."

"Okay, then, but that doesn't mean that we can stay here forever. Kiddo, we need to start living again."

He knocked back the whisky in two greedy mouthfuls, barely noticing the resultant burn. "We are living. We are."

"What we're doing is breathing in and out, being very careful of each other and stepping around the very big elephant in the room. We need to go home, if not to New York, then somewhere permanent, somewhere Alexis can start to rebuild her relationships and make new ones."

"And you need thath?" He heard the slurred pronunciation and wondered if Martha had caught it too.

"We all do."

"I did the best I could."

"I know you did. We've all made the best of things, but it's time to move on. Richard, you need to let go."

"I have." He choked back silent tears and cursed as the room spun all around him.

"No, you haven't. Not really. And we none of us can move on until you let her go."

"I don't know how."

"I know you don't, but you will. One day you will, but for now we need to wave goodbye to this never-ending vacation and return to our lives, whatever and wherever they may be."

"I know you're right. I know…I know…"

"Come home, Kiddo. Come home and be with us. Let's make the most of this holiday and hope for better next year."

"I'm coming. Tell Alexis I'm coming home."

"I will. I'll put a pot of coffee on now, okay?" Yeah, she'd heard his drunken gaffe.

Castle signed his name on the tab and made sure to grab the gift he'd picked up for Alexis from the post office earlier. He stopped at the reception desk in the lobby to drop by a Christmas card for the hotel manager, Harry Lyman, a man who'd become a firm friend over the past few months. Then he walked over to the glass doors and slipped out into the bright, unrelenting sunshine.

As the white taxicab took him from the bustle of the town and into the blanket of thick green, he closed his eyes and wished her a silent, secret Happy Christmas. He wished her love, safety and happiness. He wished it and wished it until the car came to a gentle stop at the beach house and he jerked awake.

**xxx**

It was a rule in the Beckett household that everyone was allowed to open one gift on the strike of midnight on Christmas Eve. So there she was, snuggled into the oversized sofa cushions, a professionally wrapped gift settled on her lap.

"As you can tell, I didn't wrap it myself."

"I figured."

Jim Beckett smiled, his cheeks ruddy from the heat of the large open fire, which took centre stage in the cosy room. He watched as his daughter slid her slender fingers under the edge of the shiny red paper and eased the single piece of tape loose. Then she set about opening up the folded end. She hadn't changed a bit. Katie had never been one to tear open a gift, no, instead she worked the paper off, only very occasionally tearing it a little in the process, and then set the wrapping aside before really looking at what had been inside. It drove her mother nuts. Johanna could barely hold in her own excitement as she watched her child painstakingly unwrapping a gift that she knew would blow her socks off._ "I don't know how she does it, Jim. She's so patient, careful. Why doesn't she just tear into it and reveal the surprise?" _And so he'd told her: _"She takes after me that way. The best part is the surprise. Once you open the present, the surprise is gone. She's holding onto the promise of something good, something exciting." _

Kate re-folded the red, shiny paper and placed it next to her on the sofa, and then she opened the rectangular box, which had been hidden inside. The silver bracelet was beautiful in its simplicity and its fragility. She carefully released the bracelet from the navy blue velvet-covered clasps holding it in place. "It's beautiful, Dad. Really beautiful."

Jim Beckett leant forward in his armchair as Kate pushed up off the sofa and bent down to envelope him in a hug. He wasn't about to say so, for fear of embarrassing her, or worse, reminding her of what she'd lost, but the smile on her face was the most beautiful, joyful gift of all. For months now, ever since Rick and his family had left New York, his daughter had been lost to hurt and regret. He wasn't naïve enough to think she had come out the other side, and that everything would be better for her now, but he had hope, he had belief. The smile she wore was the first one he'd seen since she'd told him what had happened. And it was brilliant.

Kate went to bed that night feeling warm, safe and loved. Slipping under the heavy covers in her old bed, she breathed in the familiar scent of fabric conditioner and better times. Her new bracelet took pride of place on the bedside table next to her, and she reached out and touched the elegant chain. She wasn't alone. She was loved and she loved. Some people didn't have that. Some people knew only hurt and loneliness; she was one of the lucky ones.

Closing her eyes, now, she wondered where he was and how he was spending his Christmas. This time, she wasn't overwhelmed by panic and hurt, instead, she felt sadness, yes, but also generous love. She wished him well, Alexis and Martha, too, and hoped that they were happy, safe, and celebrating the approaching start of a new year.

She wished him love. So much love.


	6. Chapter 6

_**AN: Thanks for reviewing! Your comments really do mean a lot to me.**_

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**Chapter Six: The World Keeps Turning Without You**

"New Year. New start", Kate muttered to herself as she tucked into a maple-iced donut while she sat waiting for Esposito to finish pumping gas into the car. She was going to regain control of her life. First stop had been the Krispy Kreme concession stand in the gas station. She had lost too much weight. Her Dad had called her on it over Christmas and Lanie hadn't shied away from pointing out that she "didn't have an ass, these days". So stuffing her face with the sugary treat wasn't the healthiest way to increase her weight, but it was all she could manage today.

They had been working since just after seven that morning. She'd called her fellow detective as she left her apartment and made her way to the crime scene, which was over at Union Square Park. Her car was in the shop, so she had to take a taxi there. She winced as the driver called out the fare as he pulled up sharply outside the Kennington Hotel. When she finally made it up to the tenth floor of the building (the elevator having been trashed by some previous tenants who'd not taken kindly to being asked to vacate the premises following non-payment of overdue rent) she felt woozy. The lack of food in her stomach combined with the climb made her legs feel like they were made of jelly and her insides growled in hopes of being noticed. Esposito had made it there a few minutes later.

It looked to be an open and shut case. Woman found dead of gunshot wounds. Several witnesses reported seeing a man matching the description of the deceased's lover fleeing the scene shortly after the sound of gunfire was heard. She was pleased. This meant that she might get home at a decent hour that evening. Maybe she'd even go for a swim or hit the machines at the gym near to her apartment.

New Year. New start. She was going to start working out again. Start looking after herself. If for no other reason than she needed to be on top of her game physically for the day when she finally uncovered the truth, if that day ever came. That day on the rooftop, she'd gone down too easy. She needed to fight smarter, dirtier, because she wasn't foolish enough to think she could win with strength alone. Maddox had tossed her over that roof like she was nothing - a rag doll flailing at him as he circled her, waiting for the right moment to pounce. She could still remember the sensation of being momentarily weightless as she rolled over the edge and into thin air. She had reached out blindly, desperately, to stop herself from falling. She remembered the feel of the rough ledge beneath her hands, and how it scraped her skin as her grip weakened and she was left holding on by her fingertips. She thought she would die. Alone.

"Yo, Beckett, you planning on eating the whole bag, or are you gonna share?"

She jumped and looked to her left as Esposito climbed back into the driver's seat.

"Help yourself."

He reached into the paper bag she offered to him and pulled out a chocolate ball of calorific heaven and bit it in half. "Mmm…so good! What other flavours you got in there?"

Beckett snatched the bag away before he could make a grab for another one. "Forget it, Espo. There's only one left, and that's for Ryan." She waited for him to comment, but of course, he didn't. Instead, he fired up the engine and pulled out into the early-afternoon traffic.

**xxx**

Kevin Ryan bit into the donut Beckett handed him with undisguised glee. From what she could gather from his mumbled explanation, her friend not willing to stop munching for a second, was that he was starving hungry because Jenny had him on another crash diet.

"I stuffed my fath over mistmas…"

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do over the holidays? Drink too much. Eat too much."

"Sure, but Jen's thister is getting hithwed in a couple of weeks."

"And you need to fit into your suit?", she guessed.

Ryan nodded before swallowing the last delicious mouthful. Then he brushed away all traces of sugary evidence from his shirt and striped tie. "So, how was your Christmas, Beckett?"

"It was good. Quiet, you know, but good."

Ryan knew he shouldn't ask, but he couldn't help himself. Curiosity got the better of him. "Did you hear from Castle?"

"No."

Her voice was a whisper and he inwardly berated himself for asking. "Um…and what about your mom's case?"

"Since the last time we spoke…nothing…I'm nowhere. Everything dead-ended. Every lead. Every possible line of enquiry."

"What's Javier saying?"

"Same as you. Something will come up. Something always does."

"But you're being careful, right?"

"Yeah. I'm being careful. Well, as much as it's within my power to be so."

He understood the point she was making. Short of staying behind closed doors twenty-four hours a day, she couldn't avoid being a target for Maddox, or whoever else out there might be gunning for her since the still unidentified "Mr. Smith" sent that package to Castle. He couldn't imagine how that felt. She was trapped. If she ran, she might never find out what happened to her mom. Also, they might still come after her. But staying, following up on leads, was also risky. Sure she might stumble upon the truth, but at what cost?

"I'm trying to let it go, I guess. The fear and the not knowing…it's poisonous, but I'm trying to move on. Nothing is going to be the same again. Things can't go back to the way they were."

Ryan nodded sadly. He wondered if she'd been seeing anyone since Castle left. It had been seven months, or more. He and Esposito, not that they'd ever share this with her, had been rooting for them from the very start. And they were sure following the closure of that insane zombie case that she and Castle were back on track. That whatever tension existed between them before seemed to be gone. He recalled his partner's words as they left the Twelfth that evening all those months ago: "Mark my words, Bro, those two will be together by Christmas". Ryan hadn't disagreed. But they weren't together, and probably never would be. He felt so bad for her.

"Anyway, that's enough about me. What about you? How's life in Narcotics?" Beckett asked.

"It's dull as shit."

"So come back."

"It isn't _that _dull."

"Come on, Ryan…one of you has to make the first move."

"Well it ain't gonna be me. Sorry, Beckett, but I'm not apologising, and Javier made his feelings plain."

"He's just stubborn. You know what he's like, Ryan."

"I thought I did."

She didn't push any further. There was no point. It wasn't fair to try and coax Ryan into making the first move, not when it was Esposito who'd blown up at him and made it clear their friendship was over. Damn stubborn man! So she changed the subject back to Jenny and the approaching wedding. Ryan seemed relieved, as was she. Neither of them was in the mood to be reminded of what they had lost.

**xxx**

It would take some getting used to, but Castle was happy for her. Also, it was actually kind of sweet the way his mother was fussing over her outfit as they made their way out of the beach house and into the waiting taxi. He couldn't recall the last time she was nervous about him meeting one of her…um…beaus (he couldn't bring himself to even think the word "lover"). Usually, she didn't seem to care what he thought.

"Hotel Tivoli", she informed the driver as she slid onto the seat next to him.

Of course, his mother's new love wasn't a stranger to him, but this dinner was going to make things official. The thus far secret courtship was out in the open, and despite his initial, and tried and tested reservations; he was actually starting to think that this time she might have found the right person.

"I can't believe you're getting married", Alexis said softly as she joined them in the back of the car. "I mean it's only been a couple of months…I just think…"

Martha reached over and grabbed her granddaughter's hand. "Darling, when you know, you know."

"But didn't you say…" Alexis allowed her words to trail off when she saw her father rapidly shaking his head, his eyebrows raised in alarm. She understood. No one wants to hear that they've cried wolf before. And her grandmother had, many times, and probably more times than she knew about. Besides which, she suspected he was worried that her grandmother would start recounting all the times she'd been crossed in love before, and those times when her passion for her 'craft' had meant she'd had to reject love.

"Darling, be happy for me?" Alexis looked to her right and saw her grandmother take in a calming breath. "I'm happy for you, Grams. Of course I am. I just want you to be sure, and I see now that you are. I…I just don't know what we'll do without you."

Castle went to speak, but this time Alexis silenced _him_ with a look.

**xxx**

Harry Lyman, owner of the Hotel Tivoli, was waiting for them at the hotel's grand entrance. The taxi pulled up in front of him, and he reached over and opened the rear passenger door. Alexis exited first, and he accepted her shy kiss on the cheek before his bride-to-be climbed out and knocked his sixty-nine-year-old-socks-off. "Martha", he said smiling, before grasping her hand and kissing it. "You look stunning. The stars are jealous of you tonight, that's for sure."

Castle smiled at this exchange as he exited from the other side of the cab. It was an old line, but Harry delivered it with some style. He walked around the back of the car and accepted his friend's effusive handshake. "Thank you for coming tonight, Rick, Alexis…it wouldn't be the same if we couldn't share this special night with you both."

"We wouldn't have missed it for all the world, right, Alexis?" Castle slipped his arm around his daughter's shoulders and smiled proudly when she agreed with his sentiments, despite knowing that she was far from okay with this, regardless of what she'd told Martha on the ride over. If he was being entirely honest, he wasn't sure he was, either. He was happy for his mother, of course he was, but things had moved very fast.

According to Martha, she had Harry had started seeing each other after a chance meeting one afternoon. She'd gone into the hotel to look into the costs of hiring one of the smaller conference rooms for an acting class. Five months of being away from New York, her friends and her acting school, had taken its toll, and she was (in her own words) "descending into madness". They'd been short-staffed that day and Harry himself had shown her what they could offer by way of a makeshift studio.

He had charmed Martha from the very start, and apparently, she'd had a similar effect on him. When he discovered that she was the mother of one of his new friends, he offered her the room free of charge. Harry had later explained to her that he'd wanted to all along, but what could he say: "there's no charge because I'm hoping you'll have dinner with me"? No, knowing that she was the mother of Richard Castle, the man who'd signed each and every book in his prized collection of Derek Storm and Nikki Heat novels, gave him a ready excuse.

Castle led Alexis into the hotel restaurant. They took their seats at the best table in the place. They had unobstructed views of the ocean all around. The table was decorated with pink rose petals and a bottle of champagne sat chilling in an ice bucket in the centre. Harry held out a chair for Martha and then he reached over to retrieve the bottle of champagne. He poured them each a glass.

"It means so much that you're both here to share this moment with us. I want you to know that Martha means the world to me and I will spend every day trying to make her as happy as she's made me."

"Oh, Harry…shh, you're embarrassing me. Please sit down, Darling."

"I don't care, Martha. You need to hear this. You are the most generous, the most fun and the most beautiful woman I've ever met. I still find myself wondering how I got so lucky. You've agreed to be my wife, and tonight…tonight, in front of the people you love most in the world, I promise that you're the one for me."

Castle didn't know Harry had it in him. Sure, the man could be charming, but this was on a whole other level. For the first time since hearing the news, he actually began to contemplate what it meant to him that his mother would be leaving. And it hurt. It hurt more than he cared to admit or even think about. But Harry wasn't letting up. The more the other man spoke, the more he remembered that he was lucky to be her son. Conventional, she was not, but she had always been loving and respectful of the choices he'd made, _even_ Gina. Sort of. She believed in his talent for writing, and since the very beginning, she had championed his efforts to anyone who would listen.

Martha couldn't stop the tears from falling when Harry held her hand in his and slid the large diamond ring onto her finger. She couldn't believe she was here, sitting at this table, in love, happy, engaged!

Their romance began in secret. After finding a suitable venue for her acting school, she began running classes again. It took a while, and a lot of advertising on the part of Harry, but slowly people started to join-up, and soon she was running two sessions a week. She started to feel like herself again. It would never take the place of her set-up in her beloved New York, but she was doing what she loved. For months she'd put her life on hold as she helped keep her son and granddaughter from falling apart. She figured she'd had close on a lifetime to carve out a place to be and a person to be, and she had no doubt that she'd return home again, but Alexis was just a baby. Her granddaughter hadn't had time and the space to work out where and who she wanted to be, and being trapped on this island was stifling her ambition and her necessary yearning for independence.

And as for her son, well, she just didn't know what to do or say to help him. This was far worse than when he discovered that that floozy of a first wife had been cheating on him. He'd been upset then, crazy with jealousy and regret, but this was different. This time he was didn't let on how he was feeling, unless pushed and under the influence. That tense conversation they'd had on Christmas Eve was the first and only time he had let her bring up the subject of Kate Beckett since they'd fled New York.

He spent his days writing, wandering the beach or knocking back whisky at the hotel. This was her son. When he was truly upset, he hid. Sometimes he hid behind this confident, party-boy façade that, as the years passed, became less and less convincing. More often, he sought solace in his imagination. And when he went there, she was unable to reach him. When her son hurt the most, he closed himself off and tried to work through his pain by writing his way out of it.

He was still there for Alexis, though. If she were ruthlessly honest with herself, she sometimes wondered how he'd turned into the type of father he'd become. She hadn't exactly been a good, or at least a consistently good role model, but he seemed to possess none of her selfishness where his child was concerned. Despite his many accomplishments, it was this that made her most proud. He was a father first, above all, and without caveats.

Martha was shaken from her thoughts when Castle stood to shake Harry's hand, and then he stooped to kiss the top of her head. He wished them both every happiness. He meant it. She looked up at her son and smiled. She had raised a good man, a man capable of anything.

"Thank you, darling." She reached for his hand and stood. She kissed him on the cheek, then whispered: "One day, Richard…one day, you'll have your happy ending. I just know it, kiddo."

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_**AN: Next chapter, we see the return of…**_

_**Thanks for reading. :)**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**AN: Happy Castle Day! Thanks for reviewing (both signed and guest). **_

_**Am more than sure that this is where my take on the mystery that is Johanna Beckett's murder will depart from what the show writers have in mind for this season, but isn't that part of the fun?**_

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**Chapter Seven: Fractures Are More Painful Than Breaks**

"Since when do we have family meetings?" Castle asked Alexis sleepily, as he took a seat at the large oak kitchen table. He picked up the assortment of newspapers laying in the centre of the table, checking to see they were all present and accounted for, then he idly flicked through the unusually thick pile of mail that had been delivered shortly before he'd made it down to breakfast. He'd waste a good amount of time reading through it all later.

"Honey?" he asked when she didn't answer him.

Alexis took strength from her grandmother's steadfast smile. "Since I started going out of my mind. Since I realised that I can't stay here forever. Since I realised that fear will rob me of my life if I don't stand up to it." She hadn't meant to blurt it all out like that, but once she started, she couldn't seem to stop.

"There's no way in hell…" Now he was wide-awake. He dropped the stack of letters back onto the table.

"Dad, just listen to me, _please_", Alexis cut across him, determined to state her case before he closed down the conversation.

"Alexis, there's no way I'm letting you out of my sight. We've been over this. Nothing has changed since you asked me at Christmas." He went to get up, signalling that there was little point rehashing the argument.

"Don't you think I'm scared? Don't you think I haven't worried over and over that I'm making the wrong move?"

"You're not making _any _move." He sat back down again. His legs feeling weak and unsteady.

"Yes, I am. Dad, I have to." Alexis tried to inject confidence into her words, but her voice was shaking and she couldn't seem to swallow enough air with each breath she took. She dragged her trembling hands back from the tabletop and let them fall, hidden, into her lap. She had to get through this.

"Well I'm not going to let you. I may not play the 'Dad Card' often, but I'm playing it now. You're not going anywhere; do you understand?"

"Dad, I'm eighteen. I'm an adult, and you know…Dad, you know you can't stop me. Not really."

"Have you forgotten what happened? They took you! They snatched you off the street in broad daylight and hid you away from me. You need to…"

"Have I forgotten? It happened to ME! I was the one blindfolded and handcuffed in the back of that car. It was me they took. ME! I thought I was going to die because of you. Can't you see? I'm a prisoner here because of _you_. I can't live _my _life because of the person _you _chose to love."

Her words, her anger, knocked the wind out of him. She had never before spoken to him in this way. For the very first time, he didn't see his child when he looked into her clear blue eyes, he saw a grown woman telling him that he had let her down. And he _had_. He'd known the dangers, yet he kept on following Beckett, kept on hoping for a happy ending.

"Dad, I know you can't help who you love. I know you tried to protect her, and us, but you couldn't."

He wanted nothing more than to get up from the table and walk away, because this hurt too damn much. Regret and fear stabbed fiery needles into his heart, each striking its target with painful, resolute accuracy.

He couldn't hold onto either of them. He was going to lose them both.

"I know you love me more than anything. I love you back the same way. I do. But I can't stay here forever; you _know_ that. I want to live my life because otherwise I may as well still be in that car."

"I can't let you go." His words spoke of a choice that he simply didn't have.

Then no one said anything. They each sat in miserable, fearful silence. He really did want to get the hell out of there. He knew it was a childish desire - no, a human desire, to want to run away from the thing that was causing you pain, but he owed his daughter this. He looked down. He examined the uniform grain of the wooden table in front of him. He ran his hand over the smooth, planed surface. The moments ticked by. He didn't know what to do, or what to say. Everything just hurt.

He had never been as grateful for the comforting touch of his mother as he was at that moment. She reached across the table and grasped his hand in hers. He felt defeated and so out of control that the room spun around him, leaving his thoughts blurred and incoherent. And his heart fractured. Both familiar and new fault lines inched their way into the beating muscle. He wasn't heartbroken. It was worse than that.

"I'm not going anywhere right now. Not for a few weeks, even." Alexis broke the silence.

"And, then?"

"Europe. Some friends have been planning this trip for months, and I said I'd join them. We're going to meet in London and then go from there to Paris, then onto Vienna…you know I've always wanted to go."

"And after that?"

"Then, back to England. I accepted a place at Oxford."

"You didn't tell me."

"I'm sorry", she said softly. "It's not my first choice…you…New York, was my first choice, but this is going to be good for me. You'll see."

But he couldn't see. His mother's hand closed tighter around his own, and he forced himself to smile, but he couldn't yet look up at his daughter. "You need to live your life. I know that, Alexis. I do."

"So I can go?"

He loved her for asking his permission even though they both knew that this was pretend. He had no choice but to nod in response. Then he looked up. Her eyes were full of tears, and she looked like his baby again. His instinct was to grab her tight in a hug, but he didn't, he couldn't. Not yet. Not until he was that he wouldn't shatter into a million pieces when he did so.

**xxx**

Something didn't feel right.

The very early morning air, a little stale because it was too cold out to open the windows, swirled around her, and she breathed it in knowing that it felt different than normal. The air sank into her skin, into her mouth, and all the while she felt on edge. Beckett lay there in bed and breathed slowly, carefully. She had to be quiet because she was straining to pick from the commonplace noise of her apartment a sound that didn't belong.

Nothing.

She breathed in and out. Sweat beginning to form blisters of moisture on her forehead.

Nothing.

Then something.

She slid her legs from under the covers and swivelled noiselessly around on the white cotton sheet. Her feet touched the carpeted floor, and she sat up. Every nerve in her body was tingling, signalling a warning that she would not ignore. Her gun was on the nightstand. She could barely make out the shape of it because the room was still mostly blanketed in darkness. She picked it up and disengaged the safety. The mechanical click pierced the silence. She knew she wouldn't have long to ready herself.

Her bedroom door, ripped of its hinges, flew towards her. It clattered onto the floor, the top coming to rest against the side of the bed. She made herself as small as possible and rolled across the floor and flattened herself against the wall, hidden from immediate view by a chest of drawers.

Gunshots pounded into the empty bed. Mattress foam flew into the air before falling in chunks onto the floor next to her. Then the wall behind the bed seemed to explode under the weight of relentless gunfire. Rows of bullets sent plaster into the air, and soon the bedroom was full of smoke and dust, and she could scarcely see.

A tall figure, cloaked in darkness, stood framed in the doorway. They pointed the assault rifle they held firmly, expertly, in their hands left, then right. Then they stepped into the room.

Beckett, careful not to give her hiding place away too soon, edged the nose of her Glock Compact around the corner of the mirrored chest of drawers. She didn't hesitate. She emptied all fifteen rounds in a short, precise burst of fire.

The intruder gasped as two bullets dug into the exposed flesh and muscle of their right upper arm. The force of the double impact sent them crashing backwards and through the empty doorway. Scrambling to their feet, they then quickly braced themselves as their intended victim barrelled towards them, knocking them back down onto the ground.

Beckett planted her knees hard into her attacker's chest, trapping their uninjured arm as she did so. The action elicited a breathy groan of pain, despite the protective vest they were wearing. She saw evidence that she'd managed to pump at least four bullets into the vest. She knew they had to be hurting, winded, underneath their armour.

Then she looked up.

Cole Maddox stared into her eyes and tried to raise the M41A rifle he still held in his other hand. She stared right back at him and then eased back on her haunches before driving her knees harder into his torso. He dropped the gun.

"So…you got me, detective."

She couldn't speak. She was a mess of adrenaline and fear. She just wanted to survive this.

"You gonna let me bleed to death? Look? You got me pretty good. I'm bleeding out. Shit…sh…it burns so bad."

Beckett followed the movement of his eyes as he indicated his right arm, which was bleeding profusely. The streetlights outside her apartment illuminated the hallway where he lay, and she could see the dark red pool of blood growing by the second. She must have hit a blood vessel.

Maddox knew she'd look. It was all about conditioning. She was good, but not as good as him. Using his injured arm, because the bitch was sitting on his good one, he slid his hand down the side of his vest and carefully pulled out the hunting knife he kept tucked into the side pocket. Then, with all his considerable, though beleaguered strength, he thrust it forward and up, striking her forearm. It was hardly effective in terms of inflicting serious injury, but it was the only place he could reach given his limited options of movement. Besides, he only needed to make her pause for a second; that would be enough.

He heard and felt the blade strike bone, and immediately, the pressure on his chest abated. Now running on empty because blood loss was starting to affect his ability to think clearly, he forced her off him and rolled to his right, reaching for his dropped gun. His sticky, bloodied fingers grasped the weapon and he swung back, trigger finger at the ready. But just then, burning heat drove into his thigh, then his knee. He dropped the gun again, dimly aware that he was yelling out in pain.

She was back, hovering over him. He couldn't hear the yelling any more. Then everything went black.

Beckett, still on her knees, watched as colour drained from his face. She hadn't wanted to kill him. She meant only to stop him.

"No!" she pleaded as she wrenched the blade from her forearm, tossed it out of reach and then climbed to her feet. She patted him down in case he was carrying anything else, then she picked up his rifle and ran with it down the hallway. When she reached the kitchen, she threw the weapon into the sink; she stuffed her own gun into the elasticised waistband of her black sweatpants and grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen table.

She hit speed-dial as she raced from the kitchen to the small bathroom. He answered on the third ring. She screamed at him to help her, and then she reached for the pile of guest towels she kept folded in the cabinet beneath the sink.

Maddox was fading fast. Had she hit his femoral artery? She hoped to god that she hadn't. Beckett ran back to the hallway and fell to her knees at his side, still grasping the bundle of sunny yellow towels. She applied firm pressure to the thigh wound, then she reached round and placed her other hand behind his knee, hoping to compress the nearest artery feeding the area. Her arm, despite the flood of numbing adrenalin that was coursing through her entire body, was hurting so bad. Each time she rotated her wrist, searing pain took her breath away.

She looked down at the dying man. "Stay with me, you son of a bitch. I want answers. I WANT answers!"

* * *

_**AN: Thanks for reading. :)**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**AN: Isn't it great to have "Castle" back on our screens? It's so much fun.**_

_**Hope you like this chapter. As always, thanks to JSQ for the beta read.**_

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**Chapter Eight: If You're Going Through Hell, Keep Going**

Javier Esposito paced outside the blue curtained treatment area in the ER. He knew Beckett was going to be okay, but damn it had been close. Maddox was a trained killer. She was unbelievably lucky to have escaped with just a nasty gash and fractured arm.

After answering her call, he'd shot out of bed. Throwing on some clothes and grabbing his weapon as he left, he raced out of his apartment into the cold, still air. He made two calls on his way over to her place. The first was to alert the cavalry, and by the time he arrived, they'd taken control of the scene.

The place was buzzing with cops and medics. He found Beckett, who was holding a bloodied yellow towel around her forearm, sitting on her sofa, alone. He approached, taking care not to startle her. She looked up at him, and said: "He's alive". He was both relieved and disgusted. Having made sure she was okay, he took a look in the bedroom, which looked like a warzone. Then he walked into the kitchen, in time to see an unconscious Cole Maddox being loaded onto a stretcher.

"Yo, Velázquez, our guy's gonna make it, right?"

"Looks that way", said the female officer as she followed the EMT out of Beckett's apartment.

"You keep an eye on him, that clear? Don't let the bastard out of your sight", he yelled at her back.

Striding back into the living room, he walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Beckett. "Maddox is on the move. Gates has organised an armed escort. He's not getting away this time. And as soon as the asshole is conscious, he's gonna answer our questions."

"Thanks for having my back", Beckett said softly.

"It's what we do, right? Now, come on, let's get you to the hospital." He helped her to her feet, and together they left the mess that was her home behind.

That had been two hours ago, and since then, Maddox had slipped in and out of consciousness, twice, and Beckett was now sporting a cast around her arm. He'd been running through the attack with Beckett when a doctor had interrupted them, and Esposito had been asked to step outside.

Suddenly, the blue curtains opened and the doctor breezed through, holding a medical chart in his hands. "You can go back in now, detective." Just as he was about to check in on Beckett, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. He turned, his hand instinctively reaching for his side arm, only to see Kevin Ryan approaching with a face like thunder.

"I hope that bastard is still alive!"

Esposito took his hand away from his side and relaxed. "You bet he is."

Ryan had been his second call. Beckett was family to both of them.

"And Beckett's okay?"

"You can see for yourself. Come on in."

Kate Beckett smiled as the two men appeared from between the gap in the curtains. Her team was complete again, almost.

"You got him, Beckett. Shit! You got him." Ryan walked over to the bed where she was sitting, unsure of what to do when he got there. So he did what he most wanted to do. What he needed to do once he saw how shaken she looked. He sat next to her on the bed and took her hand in his. When he registered just how hard her hand was trembling, he had to fight the urge to hunt down Maddox and make him pay all over again.

It was comforting to be touched in that way. It had been a long time since anyone had held her hand. She squeezed back, and it was then that she noticed what her fellow detective was wearing. She caught Esposito's eye and despite the heavy tension that existed every time they took a breath, the two of them started laughing.

"Ryan, aren't you a bit overdressed for the emergency room?" she asked.

"Okay, okay, laugh it up, guys. Jen and I were on our way to her sister's wedding over in Queens when I got the call."

"At five o'clock in the morning?" Esposito said, grinning from ear to ear.

Ryan smoothed down the front of his light grey suit jacket. The silk pink tie, still perfectly tied in place. "The weddings' at nine this morning, on a boat out on Meadow Lake. Jen didn't want us to be late, besides, there's always last minute crap to deal with, isn't there?"

Beckett and Esposito shook their heads indicating they had no idea.

"Well there is. Nothing ever runs smoothly, so it's best to get there early so you can deal with stuff as it happens."

"So where's Jen, now?" Beckett asked.

"She dropped me off and then raced back there. She wanted to come by and see how you are, but I told her that you're okay. Besides, she's the Maid of Honor".

"You know, you don't have to stay, either of you. I'm fine. Really."

"We're not going anywhere, Beckett." Ryan said firmly, before looking over at the other man.

Esposito nodded his agreement. "Ryan's right. We're gonna see this through to the end."

**xxx**

Castle's heart was hammering in his chest. The pile of letters he'd picked up from the kitchen table earlier lay open on his desk. In his hand was the last letter he'd opened. He felt sick, and so scared he could barely think straight. All thoughts of his earlier argument with Alexis disappeared from his mind any every sound around him dulled into nothing.

He had to warn her!

The letter had been inside correspondence from Black Pawn. He'd opened that last, thinking that it was just another note from Gina setting out why the ending he'd penned for the latest Nikki Heat book was the "biggest mistake since killing off Derek Storm". So, he'd sorted through the varied collection of bills, assorted fan mail that had been sent on from New York, and, as was the bane of any successful novelist, requests for book cover recommendations. He'd fired up his laptop because he saved previous reviews in a word doc, and figured he'd just change a few words round, insert new character names etc, and he'd be done in no time. It was then, as he was browsing previous reviews, all of which said pretty much the same thing, that he opened the letter from his publisher.

Inside was another letter, on which his name was printed in neat handwriting. The handwriting was unfamiliar. Accompanying the letter was a brief note written on headed "Black Pawn" notepaper, saying that the enclosed was dropped off at the New York office by a man eager to make contact with him. The man had, according to the note, visited his empty apartment many times over the past few months, but the doorman had simply said that the occupants were out. So, he'd gone away again, returning every couple of weeks hoping to find someone home. Eventually, he gave up, and reluctantly he had entrusted the letter to Black Pawn on the strict understanding that they would keep it safe and ensure it reached him as soon as possible.

Castle was intrigued, so he'd turned his attention away from the computer screen and opened the letter. Inside were two A4-sized pieces of paper. One, which at first glance looked like a list of telephone numbers – some highlighted in various colours, the other, a note signed by a man he'd thought he'd never hear from again.

The man who he'd only ever known as "Mr. Smith" had written the note in a hurry, this was clear. It was brief, to the point and answered the question that had been burning a hole in his gut since he first heard the name "Johanna Beckett". It told him _who_.

The note was written on expensive headed notepaper. It was from the office of Congressman Randall of the Seventh Congressional District, Georgia. The name was familiar to him, but why? Then he remembered. Congressman Randall was dead. He had been found in his constituency headquarters in Lawrenceville, apparently having taken his own life. That had happened months before. There was an investigation, but Castle remembered reading at the time that there was no suicide note, no clue as to why a seemingly content man had blown his head off.

Now he knew it had been no suicide. It had been a contract killing, just like all the rest. Smith's note…no, _Randall's _note, he corrected himself as his eyes raced over the words, urged Castle to hand over the enclosed evidence to the NYPD as soon as possible, that this was the only option left because he couldn't protect her any more.

The other man had known he was going to die, or at least he'd figured it as a good possibility. Maybe Randall had reached out to the Dragon, hoping to keep him at bay, but his identity had been discovered. Maybe he'd known that and so sent the bundle of witness statements and random notes to Castle before they could catch up with him. But he hadn't sent everything. He'd kept this one piece of evidence back. Maybe he was worried that they'd get to Castle too. And they had, through Alexis.

Castle's mind was racing with possibilities. Yes, that made sense. That's how he'd write it. Randall had delayed sending the other letter to him, instead he'd entrusted it to a friend, and asked that it be handed over should anything happen to him. Randall's friend, upon hearing of his death, had then sought Castle out.

He stared at the name of the person he now knew to be the Dragon. Then he picked up his new cell phone lying on the desk next to his morning coffee and dialled.

He let it ring until her heard her recorded voice telling him to leave a message. He ended the call, and sorted through his saved contacts until he found Ryan's number. Again, his call was directed to an answer phone. Dialling Esposito's number brought the same result. "Typical", he thought as she pulled his laptop closer and hit the return key. The word document he'd been looking over earlier opened and filled the screen. His fingers made a pinching movement on the track pad and the word document disappeared, and in its place were his favoured icons. He tapped once on the mail icon and the screen now opened into his email account.

He typed quickly.

Just as he was about to hit "Send", the door to his bedroom was flung open and his mother rushed inside. "Richard, turn on the news", she said breathlessly.

"Mother, I'm just about to…"

"Richard, it's about Beckett."

He grabbed the remote from off the desk and turned the TV on. The female reporter, who Castle quickly noted was standing outside the entrance to the Twelfth Precinct, was finishing up. He turned the volume up and listened as she summarised the events that had taken place in the early hours of that morning.

"_The police detective, who only last year survived being shot, appears to have been the victim of a home invasion. Sources tell me that the detective was rushed from the scene to the nearby New York-Presbyterian Hospital, and that her injuries are extensive."_

He heard the words that fell from the reporter's lips, but he couldn't yet take them in. It couldn't be true. It couldn't! His eyes scanned the photograph of Beckett that was floating in the top right hand corner of the TV screen. It was one he'd seen many times. It was her 'official' police officer photo, and he knew she hated it.

"I'm so sorry, Richard."

Castle kept re-playing the reporter's words over and over in his mind, but they just didn't make sense. She couldn't be hurt. It couldn't happen again. It couldn't.

"Richard. _Richard_." Martha walked around the desk and placed her hand on her son's shoulder.

"I need to be with her. I have to go."

"No, you can't. What if this is connected with her mother's murder? It's too dangerous."

"This is connected. I know it."

"Then why go? Why put yourself in danger, again?"

"Because I know who the Dragon is, and if it's the last thing I do, he's going to pay for what he's done to her."

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_**Thanks for reading. :)**_


	9. Chapter 9

**_Big thanks to Jen for the beta read. I struggled with this chapter and ended up re-writing half of it. Anyway, what I have down feels right to me. Onwards..._**

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**Chapter Nine: The Truth Will Set You Free**

Kevin Ryan was sitting at Beckett's empty desk. He and Esposito had returned to the precinct from the hospital just a few minutes before, and he was checking through his voicemail messages to see if he'd missed a call from Jenny. He had. Four of them. His wife was doing her best to fulfil her Maid of Honor duties, but her heart wasn't in it. In all four messages she had asked after Beckett and told him to stay safe. The fifth message was a hang-up. The caller had paused for just a second before disconnecting. He browsed his recent call list but didn't recognise the number listed two missed calls down. It was probably a wrong number or maybe some asshole trying to sell him something, but just in case it was someone he wanted to talk to, he returned the call.

The owner of the number answered on the very first ring. "Castle."

Ryan got to his feet, as was often the case when he was truly shocked. Then he paced in front of the desk, as he answered the other man: "Castle!"

"Ryan?"

"Yeah." Ryan struggled to hear him over the sound of traffic.

"I saw the news. I'm on my way to the hospital." Castle said, his voice hollow, strained.

Before Ryan even had a chance to explain that Beckett was okay, that the news story was a piece of theatre to try and fool the Dragon into thinking that Maddox had completed his mission, Castle hung up. He didn't return Ryan's call when the detective tried calling him back.

"Shit", Ryan said under his breath.

xxx

Esposito had recognised the distinct lack of fear in Cole Maddox's eyes as he adjusted to consciousness and shortly after was asked to absorb the list of charges being laid against him. Javier understood. Being grilled by a couple of cops is nothing when you cut your teeth dealing with people who'd think nothing of shooting you between the eyes, setting you on fire where you sat or taking their own sweet time tearing sounds and anguish from your body despite your every resistance. Maddox simply wasn't scared. Fear wasn't going to be the answer. No. If they wanted to find out whom he was working for, they needed to mine a richer source. They needed to give the bastard a way out, an opportunity to walk away from certain life imprisonment. He wouldn't talk for anything less. So he'd left the hospital with Ryan, leaving Beckett and Gates behind to broker the deal with Maddox.

He was just pouring himself a much-needed coffee, when Ryan hurried into the break room.

"We got a problem. Castle is on his way to the hospital."

"Castle?"

"Yeah, seems wherever he's been hiding out, he saw the news and is headed there now.

"Did he say when?" Esposito pushed the mug of coffee aside and zipped up his jacket. He didn't know how much time they had to play with.

"No. All he said is that he's going to see her."

"Shit. We need to head him off before he ruins everything."

"So let's go," Ryan said as he turned and rushed towards the back entrance at the Twelfth.

xxx

There comes a point when you just need to stop. Stop jumping around on your seat, as the plane finally, finally, descends through the cloudy night sky into JFK. Stop trying to crawl free of your own skin from sheer frustration and panic. Stop thinking that it might be too late.

She was alive. There could be no other outcome.

Castle grabbed his jacket. He hadn't brought any carry-on luggage, he had nothing waiting for him at the baggage claim, and so he could in theory be clear of the airport and in a cab in maybe twenty minutes.

In the end, his rough calculation hadn't been far shy of accurate. He was seated in the back of a yellow cab precisely 24 minutes after the plane had taxied to a gentle stop. It was then that Ryan's call came through. The other man sounded shocked to hear from him, he wasn't sure why. Okay, so he'd been MIA for months now, but surely no one could be surprised that he'd return if she were hurt. He berated his driver for not going fast enough, narrowly avoided being dumped out on the bridge in the freezing dead of night, and then shut his mouth, tight, so tight, that he thought his teeth would shatter.

xxx

"You go on in and find Beckett. I'll wait here."

Esposito nodded at his partner's instruction and then ran through the gaping hospital doors. Ryan took a breath, positioned himself to the left of the automated set of glass doors, and then he waited.

He didn't have to wait long. A taxi pulled up sharply in front of the exit, its blinding lights causing him to squint and look away. Castle climbed out. He threw a bundle of bills at the harassed-looking driver and then raced towards the entrance.

"Castle! Over here!" Ryan shouted, as he took a few steps forward, his eyes still bleary and full of floating golden haloed headlights.

"Ryan?"

Castle stopped just short of the glass doors. He allowed Ryan to bundle him around the side of the building until they came to a stop behind an idling catering truck.

"Beckett is okay." Ryan blurted out as fast as he could, but he had to say it twice more before the look of absolute devastation started to lessen its grip on the other man's features.

"She's okay!"

"It was Maddox. He broke into her apartment and tried to kill her, but she nailed the bastard."

"She's…sh..she's…okay…" Castle slid down the side of the truck until he was crouching, needing a moment to catch his breath and steady his panic-stricken heart.

"She has a fractured arm, nothing worse than that."

Castle winced even at the thought of that, but his heartbeat was gradually settling into a comfortable rhythm. Kate was alive. She wasn't seriously hurt. She was going to be okay. Suddenly, he remembered. He stood up, perhaps a little too fast, because he swayed about on the spot for a moment, and Ryan grabbed hold of his arm again. Once his vision levelled out, he reached inside his jacket pocket for the letter and phone list Randall had sent before he died.

"Look, we need whoever's behind this to think that Beckett is dead. We need time to question Maddox. Maybe he'll give it up. Maybe. But right now, it's the only lead we have. You can't go in there and ruin that. Beckett needs to be dead, okay?"

"No, she doesn't", Castle said as he handed over the two pieces of paper.

"What's this?"

"That, Detective Ryan, is the final puzzle piece."

Ryan looked down at the list of numbers, then he looked at the letter, then he looked at the numbers again. Then he smiled. A huge grin spread across his face and he wanted nothing more than to shout his relief into the night air. He wanted to scream it out loud. They had him. They had the Dragon.

xxx

Esposito and Beckett were half-heartedly sipping truly terrible coffee when Kevin Ryan found them. He came to skidding halt in front of the plastic chairs on which they sat. Esposito held the polystyrene cup away from his mouth in disgust, and then looked up at Ryan, a question evident in the arch of his eyebrows.

"We have him. We have the Dragon!"

Beckett remained seated, exhaustion holding her in place. Her eyes fixed on Ryan. "What?"

"Beckett, we have him. Here." He handed over the pages, adrenalin making his hands shake in the process.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper as she studied the pages in front of her.

"Castle."

Her head snapped up, her eyes alert, questioning. "Castle?" His name felt strange on her tongue, and the sound of it seemed to echo up and down the stark, empty corridor, each time bouncing back off her. She felt each blow in turn.

"How?" she said.

"He said they were delivered to him some time this morning. He raced here with them…he saw the news…thought you were hurt."

"How?" she repeated.

Esposito took the pages from her gently and read them over. "Shit", he said, his deep voice ending on a whistle. "Shit".

Ryan stayed silent. He could scarcely believe it, and he'd had maybe ten minutes more to digest what this meant. "Beckett, this is what we've been waiting for, what you've been waiting for…fuck…we got him!"

"Where he is?" Beckett asked, getting to her feet. Her voice was clearer now, firmer, more controlled.

"My bet is D.C. – bastard is probably sitting up there on the Hill congratulating himself."

"What, hill?" She asked, confusion clouding her face.

"Capitol Hill…oh, you mean Castle?"

"Yeah. I mean Castle".

"I told him to wait in the visitors lounge up on the fifth floor."

"He's upstairs?" She asked for confirmation because she honestly didn't believe it.

"Yeah. You should've seen him. I've never seen anyone look that scared, and…"

"Espo, you and Ryan take those papers to Gates. I'll be upstairs."

"What papers?"

The three detectives turned to see Gates approaching. Her confident stride brought her within touching distance within seconds, and without a word, Esposito handed over the papers.

Gates took in the information. She couldn't believe what she was reading…but all the same, it felt true. Then she lifted her head and told them what they needed to do.

xxx

Castle paced the small room. He looked around, despite not being the least bit interested in what it held. But when all you have is waiting time stretching ahead of you, taking a moment to concentrate on nothing much at all is sometimes the only way to stop from going insane. The four muted rose-pink armchairs, which were arranged in a square, a wooden coffee table in the middle, blended with the beige, non-descript walls. Well-thumbed magazines covered almost every inch of the tabletop. Vague watercolour prints adorned the walls. Quite frankly, he hated it. The room exuded heartbreak, and he wanted out of there. He felt suffocated by the air swirling around him…it was stale; it tasted of hurt, loss and dreaded finality. He wondered how many people had sat in that room and heard the worse news possible. That could have been him. He glanced at the chair by his side and imagined a version of himself sitting there, devastation crushing him into the pink material. What would he have done? How would he have ever hoped to cope?

It was at times like this that he resented his imagination, his propensity to think in ever-changing narrative, to write a story in his mind, despite himself. God, he needed to see her. The moment he did, the bad stories would stop writing themselves and he could breathe easy again.

He just needed to see her.

xxx

Beckett, finally done with Gates's many questions and instructions, raced to the nearest elevator. Her arm was killing her, her head felt hot, her hands were clammy and she was more than burned out, but she had never felt so good. She had the truth. It filled her heart, reaching into all those dark spaces that had been in shadow since finding Raglan waiting on the steps of their home all those years ago. And he was here. Castle. He was so close.

The elevator reached her floor and the doors opened with a "ping". She hurried inside. Her foot tapped impatiently as the elevator climbed. She forced herself to walk, not run, down the long corridor. Turning right at the end, she walked past two empty visitors rooms before finding the door to the third closed. She took a deep breath and then turned the door handle.

His back was to her. He was standing looking out of the large window. She waited but he didn't turn around. Then she realised that he was watching her. He was watching her reflection in the glass. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to gauge her reaction to seeing him after all this time before he showed his own hand.

"Castle", she said, her voice sounding hard, businesslike, and at odds with how she was actually feeling in that moment.

"I'm so glad you're okay." He said softly.

"I'm fine. It's over. We…we got him."

"And you're okay?"

"Castle, will you just look at me?"

He turned to face her, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "Sure. I can do that."

xxx

"Those papers…they held the key to this whole thing. You know that, right?"

He answered her with questions of his own. Lots of questions. Somehow, they managed to settle into their old routine, because it was all about the case, the mystery – they kept their relationship out of it. They edged closer, smiling became easier, and soon they were sitting down opposite one another and it was as if nothing had changed.

"You look good, Castle." She finally felt strong enough to steer the conversation into potentially choppier waters.

"You too."

She shot him a look that conveyed in an instant that she thought he was crazy. "I'm a mess."

"You're not a mess. Far from it."

"I think that suntan has gone to your brain."

"You always look good." His blue eyes twinkled and she marvelled at how, despite the situation, he could plant butterflies in her stomach with just a look.

"So what happens, now?" He asked.

"With the case?" Beckett said softly, unable to look away.

"Um, yeah… What happens now in terms of trying for a conviction?" He broke eye contact.

"We've arrested him. Tomorrow morning, I'll start questioning him."

He wanted to ask if he could help her. He wanted to be there when she faced the man who had taken so much from her, but he didn't feel entitled. He had left her to fend for herself; she knew that as well as he did. And maybe she could forgive him for leaving, but a part of him never would.

"I couldn't have solved his…I couldn't have got justice for my mom without you, Castle."

"I wish I could have done more. I should have done more." His voice shook, and he truly believed he might cry. Great, he thought, make this about you. Idiot.

"I had to leave." He said slowly, the words sticking in his throat.

"I know you did."

"I'm so sorry, Kate. I'm so, so sorry."

She reached for his hands and held them in her own. "Without you I never would have gotten to this point. I would have spent the rest of my life wondering."

His larger hands turned hers over, and he rubbed his thumbs against her soft, sensitive palms. She felt her whole body relax at his touch. She saw in the way he held himself that touching her was having the same effect on him.

They continued to hold hands, not a word more was spoken until they heard a knock at the door. Kate pulled her hands away and stood.

Gates stepped into the room. She nodded a brief hello to Castle, who'd also leapt to his feet, and then informed Beckett that Maddox was willing to cut a deal. "Ryan and Esposito are taking his statement now. I need you back at the precinct. We need to prepare for tomorrow."

"Okay."

Gates read the sadness that fell across Beckett's face and she hated to be the one to hurry her along, but this was too important. This was the biggest case ever to cross her desk. If she screwed up, she would be out of a job, of that she had no doubt. She knew Beckett would suffer a similar fate. "Five minutes, okay, Detective?"

Beckett nodded, and waited until the Gates had closed the door behind her until she stepped in closer to him again. She reached for his hands. The instant she touched him, he pulled her closer still, and his arms encircled her, pressing her against him. She breathed in him, her cheek resting against his chest, her eyes closed tight.

She felt his hands smoothing away the worry, the hurt, and as she stood there safe in his arms, she let herself imagine a future not overshadowed by her mother's death. For the first time she could imagine being happy, truly happy.

They didn't speak, they just held on, anchored by need and the desire to give comfort.

"I need to go, Castle." She finally breathed against the soft cotton blue of his shirt.

"I know, but not yet. Not yet."

Kate held on tighter. His touch was transformative, healing, and she never wanted to let go. But she had to. She had to get this done. Then her cell phone rang out, piercing the addictive, safe silence and she reluctantly pulled back.

"I'll be right there", she said into the phone.

"Gates?" he asked.

"Yeah, she's outside in the car."

Castle reached for her hands. She looked like a deer caught in headlights and he knew she was questioning if she had enough left to slay the Dragon once and for all. He could see the doubt creep into her posture and in her shaky, timid smile.

"Beckett, you got this."

"I don't know if I can face him…after all this time…what if…"

"You can. You will. Make him pay. Do what you do best."

There was so much more to be said, but there wasn't time. Beckett's cell phone sounded again. She let go of his hands and rejected the call.

"This is where you can find me", he said handing her a folded piece of paper with the beach house address written on it. "Alexis leaves in two days. I won't see her again for months. I need to get back…I...I need to say goodbye."

"Give her a hug from me, okay?"

He smiled sadly and told her that he would. Then he watched, hurt clogging his throat with burning tears as she walked away. She turned as she reached the door. She smiled, and he saw it - the flash of determination in her eyes. "You got this, Beckett", he repeated.

Then she was gone.

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_**Thanks for reading. :)**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**AN: Here's my take on who might be behind the murder of Johanna Beckett. I wrote this chapter long before it was revealed that Bracken was the evildoer. I got the senator part right = score. **_

_**I want to say a big "thank you" to Amilyn for her invaluable help with this chapter and, as always, to Jen, for her beta assistance. Finally, to Laffs, for lending me her badass name.**_

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**Chapter Ten: Dragon Slaying**

The truth, when it finally revealed itself, came without fanfare or caveats. It shook her to her core, as she always knew it would, yet this precious gift of truth arranged the previously disparate puzzle pieces that made up her mother's murder into a picture that at once fit seamlessly into her history and her future. She finally knew. Knew his face, knew his name, knew what he'd done, and she knew how she would make him pay. And, just as she always believed, he wasn't untouchable.

Kate Beckett stared straight ahead, her gaze never wavering as she spoke the familiar words. Then she waited. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Then, for the second time, she addressed the man who had designed to steal so much from her.

"Senator Lafferty, do you understand your rights as they've been read to you?"

The grey-haired, tan, handsome man sat across from her, nodded. He was flanked either side by his lawyers, who she knew would do him no good in the long run; his house of cards was going to fall one way or another. She hoped this would be achieved through the process of interrogation, confession and finally, conviction, but she knew better than to think he would go easy. No. His first trial would be by courtesy of the media, because as they sat there in Interview Room 1, the press was rabidly multiplying outside the doors of the precinct. Rumours were flying all over the city and fast making their way to Washington. Senator Lafferty of the Eighth District had been found out. No one knew for what, yet, but that was beside the point. There was a story to be written - the ink had started to flow, the actual facts could come later.

"For the purposes of the tape, Senator Lafferty nodded in the affirmative." Beckett confirmed, her voice steady, determined. She would not buckle. She would not break.

Emboldened by the presence of Captain Gates at her side, she took a steadying breath and began.

**xxx**

Joseph Michael Lafferty, Senator, former Police Commissioner and Chief of Detectives of New York City, and former Captain of the Twelfth Precinct, stared ahead, not really looking at his accuser, but not ignoring her either. This was an unforeseen complication, which had the potential to go south very quickly. This woman was a loose end that should have been taken care of. But here she was, and here _he_ was. She was different from the picture he had held in his mind all these years. He knew what she looked like, of course, but she had an intimidating physical presence that belied her slender and resoundingly feminine form. The truth was that he'd yet to meet a female police officer that had made him sit up and take notice.

No. She was different. In spite of the fact that she was at that very moment trying to destroy him, she impressed him, she charmed him. He recognised the hunger within her, read in her posture the barely concealed desire to run at him, to take him down. He understood all too well the thrill of the hunt. He knew she smelled blood. His blood. But, she would be patient, exacting – to be honest, he'd be disappointed if she were anything less.

His green-grey eyes fixed on hers, and he almost smiled as she leaned forwards, eager to let him know that she wasn't scared of him. He wondered how much she knew. Not everything, not yet, and maybe not ever, but the question was this: did she know enough?

**xxx**

He was barely a year into his stint as Captain when beat cops Montgomery, McCallister and Raglan started meting out their own particular brand of justice. It took him a while to discover what they were up to, but once he knew, he did the sensible thing: he kept quiet about it. Initially he feared reprisals from above if it were ever to leak out that some of his officers were operating outside of the law, but it didn't take him long to see that what they were doing realised favourable results. Then looking the other way became easy. Crime figures were way down. His bosses weren't going to question anything so long as incidences of the "big three": robberies, drug dealing and homicides, kept decreasing.

It was actually kind of perfect. The Five Families were looking at each other for someone to blame, and while they were busy doing that, one of their own would disappear from under their noses, only to be returned later after being 'tuned up' by that hothead McCallister. For the first time since he joined the force, the movers and shakers in the world of organised crime were really running scared. It was so different when he first started out at the Twelfth. New York was pretty much lawless back then. The City was on the verge of bankruptcy, and with no help forthcoming from Ford, who was sitting pretty on his throne in Washington, ridding the streets of the stain of organised crime was dangerous, fruitless work. There were entire city blocks that he and his brothers in blue didn't dare venture into. And so when he saw the changes brought about by the actions of his officers, he applauded them in the only way he could. He promoted Raglan and McCallister to the rank of Detective and made sure the kid got regular pats on the back. He knew they had to be pulling in some cash at the same time, but he let that slide. He figured they'd earned it.

But then it all went wrong.

Agent Robert Armen should never have been in that alley. It was bad luck, pure and simple. It was the kid who broke first, of course. No way Raglan or McCallister would've said a word to him about it if not for Montgomery's need to purge himself of guilt. He watched them returning to the precinct that sunny afternoon in 92', low-life Pugatti in tow. The young cop practically ran into his office, demanding to speak to him right away. He saw the look of undisguised anger and malice that crossed McCallister's face and he understood why Montgomery was in such a hurry. The kid was scared for his life.

He let Raglan and McCallister book Pugatti, their patsy, while he listened to Montgomery unburden himself. Then he called in the other men. It was a kidnapping gone sideways. The whole thing was a fucking nightmare but at least the damage could be contained. The answer to their problems was sitting beneath them in a 6ft by 8ft foot cell – Raglan and McCallister knew that, and there was no way he was about to scupper their plan.

He visited Joe "The Bull" Pugatti personally that night. The Custody Officer disappeared with a wave of his hand, and he knew the cameras, not they were of any real use back then, wouldn't capture the moment – Raglan would make sure of that. The deal he had come to make was simple. Plead guilty, and avoid the searing scratch of the needle. The look on Pugatti's face was priceless. The man actually looked surprised, disappointed maybe, like he couldn't believe these asshole cops had it in them to take things this far. Nevertheless, he took the deal. Grabbed onto it with his greedy, cowardly hands, and never uttered a word about it until later, seven whole years into his stretch when he began to feel confident again. That's the thing about fear. You go too long without a taste and you start to feel brave again. Only this time, Pugatti's bravery opened up a whole new can of worms, and they were still out there slithering, inching towards the truth, despite his attempts to cut them down every chance he got. Who knew some bleeding-heart liberal lawyer would take up his case? He'd kept tabs on Pugatti. No one was listening to him. No one wrote him back when he laid out his tale of police corruption. No one, until her.

After clearing up the mess that was Armen's shooting, he'd taken control of the operation. Raglan, McCallister and Montgomery operated under his orders. Bail, this time, was set sky high. Everyone knew the score. Get caught dealing in drugs, guns or girls in their neighbourhood, and you paid the price. Literally. The thing with organised crime, it had been his experience, is that its not actually that well organised. Low and middle order gang members aren't all that bright, they get sloppy or overdose on the thrill of it all, which makes them easy to catch. Then once you have them, they squeal easy when you slap them around for a couple of hours, or threaten to throw their kids into jail with the resident kiddie-fiddler. So bail money continued to flow in, crime figures kept on falling and the high-ranking gang members and family bosses began to get the message. That's when he realised he'd been thinking too small. He had an opportunity to make some real money, to wield some serious clout in this town; all it took was a little finesse.

He put the word out to the Gambino Family that, for a fee, their operations would be dealt with less 'stringently' than that of their counterparts. The offer was accepted, and pretty soon he had more money than he knew what to do with. But having that money scared him; it made him all-too-visible should an investigation ever be mounted. So he covered his tracks. He let it be known that he was interested in moving onwards and upwards – he'd been courted for the job of Chief of Detectives, and so when the offer was made again, he took it. Then he started to tie the loose ends that over time had begun to make him nervous. With the Gambino Family on side, and with the NYPD's resources at his disposal, files, statements and then witnesses began to disappear – these included gang members who had been kidnapped for ransom, and who could possibly identify their captors as cops, and other cops who had started sniffing around the operation, whether by accident or design, it didn't matter, they too were despatched into the river or wound up dead following a failed arrest. Pretty soon, there was no one left who had reason to break the silence, no one except Pugatti.

After that, he kept his head down. He invested his money in the right people, a few hundred grand spent wisely here and there, and before long, he had acquired new friends – friends whose influence extended beyond New York, to D.C., and on whom he would one day call upon to repay his generosity. Years passed and life was good. He'd set his sights on the role of Police Commissioner, and his friend, the Mayor, would no doubt be calling him with good news any day now. And so the bloodshed would have ended there, if not for Joe fucking Pugatti! The low-life bastard had actually found someone willing to listen. More than that, someone who was fixing to mount an appeal on his behalf.

New Year's Day, 1999, began like those that immediately preceded it – with heavy rain. He'd been working at his desk, nursing a whisky-induced hangover, when the call came through from the courthouse. Someone had put in a request for Joe Pugatti's case file the day before the city shut down for the Christmas break. He'd asked the clerk first for his name again, then for the name of the person requesting the information, and then he scribbled the name "Johanna Beckett" down on his writing pad and ended the call. He remembered pausing, just for a moment, an unfamiliar twisting forming in his gut, before again picking up the receiver. It was the very same feeling he was experiencing now, as he looked into the calm, determined eyes of Johanna Beckett's daughter.

**xxx**

Beckett was trying to keep her cool. It was becoming increasingly difficult, but she was doing her very best to remain focused, despite the fact that Senator Lafferty was closing his ears to everything she said.

"You'd been keeping tabs on that court file. The one my mom requested shortly before she was killed. I'm willing to bet it was Pugatti's complete prosecution file. It had been flagged so that anyone who wanted to see a copy would have his or her details passed to your office. Then, once you knew the name of the person requesting the file, you made contact with Dick Coonan." It wasn't a question. She was telling him.

He remained silent, as before. His expression impassive, his posture fixed by years of practice. _Always stand tall. Never slouch. Show people you mean business, even when the odds appear stacked against you._

"You panicked, didn't you? She was getting too close to the truth about what happened that day in the alleyway, wasn't she? So you had Coonan murder the documents clerk, Scott Murray, on January 7th 1999, and on the very same day, and on your orders, Coonan murdered Diane Cavanaugh. Diane worked for another non-profit, not for my mom, but because she was helping with the appeal case for Pugatti, you didn't want to take any chances."

Lafferty breathed slowly, evenly. She was right, but she lacked proof. It was almost pitiful, really. She was building a case on nothing more than gut instinct, guesswork and slithers of fact. It wasn't ever going to be enough.

"Then, on January 9th, you had Coonan kill my mother. The knife wounds are consistent with those found on the bodies of Murray and Cavanaugh, and also on the body of Jennifer Stewart, who was found in Central Park on May 21st. You remember her name, of course? Jennifer volunteered for my mom. She was the third member of the "Justice Initiative" that you had killed. Only, she wasn't in New York in January. She was touring Europe with college friends until early May, when she returned home to discover that two of her friends had been murdered. I'm sure it wasn't long before she began to wonder if their deaths were connected. Two random acts of gang violence, within two days of one another. She had to be concerned."

Lafferty shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable. He was growing weary of listening without responding, because despite what people might think, it isn't easy. If someone asks you a question, your instinct is to provide an answer, if only to say you don't have one. But his lawyers had told him to speak only at their direction.

Also, the room was too hot, and it had been some time since anyone had offered him a drink. He considered pointing this out, but he didn't want to feed his accuser's ego. No. He needed to be patient, implacable and uncomplaining, and he'd soon be out of there. She needed to know that she wasn't getting to him…though the matter of this "Stewart" woman was of slight concern because, try as he might, he couldn't recall that name.

Not that this was a surprise. As Chief of Detectives, his days had been filled with training seminars, speaking engagements and meetings, and many of his evenings were spent dinning out or pressing flesh down at City Hall in readiness for his run at the post of Commissioner, a role he would secure just two short years later. No. He had given Coonan clear orders. He knew the size of the mess he had to clear up. After that, he'd thought no more of it.

"Senator Lafferty, do you deny knowing Dick Coonan? No? Yes? You know, this interview will go smoother, faster if you play along."

Beckett pulled out a page of text from within the file of papers she had in front of her on the desk. He couldn't help but to glance down at it. It looked like a typed list of numbers and dates.

"Coonan was a professional killer, and as such he rarely made mistakes. But he made a mistake with Jennifer."

He looked away from the page and fixed his eyes on a spot just to the left of her right eye.

"He called Jennifer. Twice, in fact. You see Coonan had another job to attend to. We can put him in Bolivia the day after Jennifer's body was found. He was in a rush to finish the work you'd commissioned and move on to his next pay check. He didn't want to spend time watching her, following her movements; he wanted to get in and out of there quick. Here, this number circled in yellow is the home phone number belonging to Jennifer Stewart back in 1999, and this number right here, the one circled in blue, belonged to Coonan. He was living over on Amsterdam at the time of the murder – can you believe he called her from his home number. Pretty cocky, and stupid. I'm guessing he fed her some bullshit story about wanting to help her look into the murders of her friends; maybe he posed as a cop, who knows. So she agrees to meet him, but is wary, and so asks him to meet her in a public place – the park. And well, you know the rest.

Lafferty watched as she slid another page from inside the file across the desk towards him. This time, a bright red circle encased a familiar number, a number that could bring down his carefully constructed house of cards. He felt his shoulders slouch despite his best efforts, but he forced his face into an accommodating, unfazed smile. _Show people you mean business, even when the odds appear stacked against you._

"This number, as we've established, belonged to Coonan. This number here, the one circled in red, well, in May 1999, that number belonged to the Chief of Detectives. For the purposes of the taped record, and also so that you fully understand me, on May 21st at 14:03, you received a call from Dick Coonan. He must have called you as soon as he made it back to his apartment on Amsterdam after leaving Jennifer at the park, because her body was discovered by a man out walking his dog at a little after 3pm. You'll notice, of course, that his call wasn't to your secretary's phone, which would be the official, publically available number. No. He called you direct, Senator Lafferty."

He watched as Beckett took a steadying breath before continuing. There she was pulling the noose tighter and tighter around his neck, and yet she looked more on edge than ever. She could connect him with Coonan and the three cops. She could connect him with Pugatti, and he had little doubt that the ever useful, though unashamedly mercenary Maddox, would cut a deal on his sentence and hand him over to her on a plate when it came to the matter of the necessary death of Congressman Randall.

He watched her closely as she repeated the list of offences of which he was accused, and he allowed himself a small smile. He knew she couldn't understand why he wasn't broken down. Why he was still sitting there, seemingly unfazed. He knew she was questioning herself. Maybe he wasn't her man. Maybe he wasn't the complete answer. Maybe she was still in the crosshairs.

Then her eyes found his, and, as he suspected, he saw uncertainty flickering there. She was scared. Her fear of letting him escape the noose she'd painstakingly twisted and bound together, then lowered over his head, made her shrink before him. He found he was momentarily disappointed in her, but he knew that fear wouldn't stop her. After all, it never had before.

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_**Thanks for reading. :)**_


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Thanks for reading, and especially for reviewing. Hope you like this next instalment. Again, thanks to JSQ for the beta assistance. **

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** Chapter Eleven: Laying Ghosts to Rest**

Beckett stood outside Interview Room 1, her shoulder and hip resting against the doorframe. She watched the retreating figure of Senator Lafferty as he was led away by Esposito and Ryan. She knew where they were headed, but she wanted no part of it.

The 'perp walk' was time-honoured. Most cops she knew loved getting their five minutes of fame. It wasn't about that for her, or for Ryan and Esposito, but this was time it was different. This was all about inflicting maximum damage to a man who'd managed, in different ways, to hurt them all. Soon, the City of New York and the wide world beyond would know of the allegations against the senator. And the press, who'd continue to multiply in numbers during her interrogation of Lafferty, and who were clamouring for information and photographs, were about to hit pay dirt.

As planned, the two detectives escorted Senator Lafferty off the premises. There was no reason to do this. The cells downstairs weren't overloaded, there was no need to transfer him to a neighbouring precinct, but Lafferty wasn't to know this. The moment Ryan opened the back door to the Twelfth, the press descended.

"What have you been charged with, Senator?" Someone yelled.

"Senator Lafferty, look this way, please? Senator. Senator!" shouted someone else.

In seconds, they were caught up in an excited, jockeying mess of cameras, microphones and constant cries for information. They kept Lafferty moving until they rounded the corner and headed towards the Ryan's car, which, conveniently, he'd parked directly outside the front entrance. Now caught up in an even bigger swell of reporters, walking in a straight line became difficult for the three men.

"Back off!" Ryan yelled, mustering as much enthusiasm as he could.

"You heard the man. Give the senator some room!" Esposito added, doing his best to resist the temptation to tighten his grip around the other man's arm until a bone snapped in two. "Move back. Move back!"

Eventually, they made it to the car and secured Senator Lafferty in the back seat. They took their time, and made sure not to get in the way when cameras were planted inches from the senator's face. Flashbulbs lit up the evening air, and both men found it hard to keep from grinning. Payback was a bitch. Lafferty would soon come to know this. Then, once the car doors were closed behind them, Ryan made a meal of starting up the engine and pulling away, allowing the press to easily surround the car and take yet more photos. Throughout it all, Lafferty remained silent.

A couple of minutes later, Ryan directed the vehicle into traffic and the silver sedan blended in with all the other cars clogging up the city's asphalt arteries. He turned to his partner. "You know the life expectancy for a dirty ex-cop in jail?"

"Man, I'd say you'd be lucky to last a week", Esposito said, shaking his head like he felt sorry for the still-silent passenger. "But you know the score: he won't go into general population. Nah, he'll make out just fine in protective custody. The State of New York is responsible for him now, and we all know how seriously they take that shit."

Ryan checked his rear view mirror before adding, "Yeah, but that means twenty three hours a day locked in your cell. Alone. Only time you see daylight is when you go for a shower or take a walk round the yard."

"It's a cakewalk compared to mixing it with the scum you helped put away over the course of your career, that's for sure. Still, it _is_ kinda lonely."

Ryan made a show of considering his partner's answer before continuing: "But we're forgetting…some guys in there don't play by the rules. It's like they don't even apply. You know the type? Guys who hold a grudge because it's the only thing they have left to hang onto. The sort of guys that got worked-over or put away when our boy here was playing fast and loose with the rules back in the day. Those types don't care about protective custody…and maybe one day a guard gets sloppy, and the Senator here might earn himself a friend."

"Yeah, 'sloppy' or greedy. You know how much prison guards make? It ain't much, and so it's gotta be tempting, right?" And I'm sure there are plenty of mob guys in there who'll consider it money well spent."

"You hear that, asshole?" Ryan asked the silent man seated behind him.

Esposito turned to face Lafferty; a satisfied smile lit his face. "My partner asked you a question, shit head. It's only polite to answer."

Lafferty remained silent, but met Esposito's eye. Familiar words trickled forth until they were the only words he heard. Nothing these cops could say would reach him. Over and over, he silently spoke his mantra: "_Show people you mean business, even when the odds appear stacked against you."_

Esposito continued to smile. "Yeah, you're gonna get yours, Lafferty. Just you wait and see."

xxx

"Are you okay, Detective Beckett?" Victoria Gates asked as she finished gathering her papers together and stood next to the detective in the doorway of Interview Room 1.

"What do I do now?" Beckett said slowly. Her brain was still running through the questions she knew she must ask of him, and had done, and her heart was weighed down by answers he'd chosen not to give. But it was over. She knew that. Lafferty was going to jail for the rest of his life. There was no doubt about this, so why was she paralysed? Why couldn't she seem to move beyond the doorway?

"Tragedy doesn't have to define you, detective. We know better than most just how short life can be. So my unsolicited advice, for what it's worth, is to take a deep breath and start living again."

"I don't think I know how to do that."

"I disagree", Gates said kindly. "You proved as much when you handed in your badge, back when Castle was still around."

"That was different. I had something…something that meant more."

"And now you don't?"

"Maybe. I hope so."

"Then go find out, detective." Gates gave the other woman a reassuring, though fleeting pat on the arm, but said no more. Then she turned on her sensible heels and walked purposively in the direction of her office, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Beckett stared after her. She was warming to her captain, she was, but every time she closed that damn door, all Kate could think was how Montgomery had always kept it open.

"We got him, boss", she whispered, her eyes fixed on the office that had been his for so many good years. "We got him."

Then, she too, walked away.

xxx

Kate Beckett never spoke to her mother. Not out loud. She just let the words float through her mind and hoped without real hope that somewhere, somehow, her mom could hear them.

Beckett knelt down at the graveside and gently laid a fresh arrangement of white tulips, her mother's favourite and hers, against the light grey headstone.

_I got him, Mom. You showed me the way, and I followed. And I don't know why, but I feel like I'm losing you all over again. Like finally knowing why and who makes your death more real…final. I know that doesn't make any sense, but I can't stop feeling it._

_I've never told you this, but sometimes I can't see your face when I close my eyes and wish for you. How can I keep you with me always if I can't find you? I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so sorry."_

She broke down, her sobs echoing around the otherwise still and silent graveyard. She felt so alone. So raw and vulnerable as if even the air she breathed was causing her pain. It hurt like the first time.

"Katie?"

She lifted her head, to see her father approaching. He hurried over to her and wrapped his arms around her. Between deep, painful sobs, she managed to tell him.

"I got him."

Then she listened to her father break all over again.

xxx

Earlier that Day

Castle's fingers tripped over the keys, stilling for only a moment here and there before again picking up pace and transforming the thoughts in his head to words on a screen. Breakfast came and went. The sun-worshippers flooded the beach and then drifted away again. He stopped, finally, when his bare feet grew cold, being blanketed in shade for the first time that day. Then he scrolled back through the many, many pages of words until he reached the beginning, and only then allowed himself to read. That was his rule. Write when you have to write, when it's the only thing you can think about, then read over what you've said. Never edit until you're done thinking, feeling and talking.

What he'd written was untidy. It was sad, bruising, and conveyed the myriad emotions that were coursing through him since making it back from New York.

Alexis could go now, and he wouldn't worry about her being taken from him again. Sure, he'd still go out of his mind the moment she left the island, but he could cope with that. Parents all over had to learn to cope with letting their child discover the world without them. It was pain he could overcome, fear that he could manage. And Beckett was safe. She'd slay the Dragon, of course she would, and somewhere far away from his tropical hiding place, he imagined she was starting to come to terms with what that meant for her.

An hour later, he glanced up from his MacBook when he heard a soft, hesitant knock at his bedroom door. "Come in." He shouted, aware if he didn't his voice would be lost to the ever-present roar of the ocean.

"Dad?"

"Over here."

"Where are you?"

"On the floor. By the bed."

"Um...why?"

"Writing." He made sure to save the document, and then powered down the laptop.

Alexis found him sat with his back resting against the side of the bed, a white pillow squashed into the triangle of space between his lower back, the base of the bed and the floor. His denim-clad legs stretched out in from of him, his laptop resting across his thighs. He looked tired but energised all at the same time. She loved that look on him. It meant good things. It meant he'd been happy in his writing.

"Did you finish it?" She asked as she handed him a large mug of hot coffee.

"Not even close, but I'm finally getting somewhere."

"But, Dad, won't Gina be mad? I thought you just needed to do a final edit of the last few chapters."

"Oh, you mean Nikki Heat?"

"Yeah."

"I sent that off to Black Pawn weeks ago. This is something new."

He didn't fail to notice the look of relief that passed across his daughter's face. She had always been more sensitive to his deadlines than he was. Even as a kid, she'd badger him to put down his Xbox controller or his remote control helicopter and get back to writing. He'd follow her instructions, but often, once he was sure she'd gone to bed or was getting on with her own homework, he'd surf the net or pull up one of the hundred games he had at his disposal. He couldn't write on command. Or at least he couldn't write anything good on command. That's why his second novel was below par. Buoyed by the unprecedented success of _"In a Hail of Bullets"_, he allowed himself to get caught up in believing that writing was a job to him. The result being that he churned out a sub-standard book and let it go without missing it even once. His best work – his favourites among the Derek Storm series and all the Nikki Heat's were never easy to part with. He'd finish them and spend a few days walking around feeling like he had the biggest secret. He knew he was sitting on a winner when a part of him didn't want to let the manuscript go.

This latest story was something he wanted to hold tight to him and protect from prying eyes. It was the most personal thing he'd ever written, and he knew it was the best thing he'd ever written. He honestly wasn't sure if he'd publish when it was finally done.

"So, let me guess, you've been sitting here since Grams and I left before breakfast?"

He shrugged as he took a grateful but burning sip of coffee and finally let go of his laptop, placing it next to him on the rug.

"And this new book; what's it called...no, wait...let me guess."

"It's not a Nikki Heat." He confirmed, and this time blew across the surface of his drink before taking another sip.

"It isn't?"

"Nope."

"But I had some great title ideas." She pretended to pout as she sat on the floor next to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Hit me." He placed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Heat Rash, Packing Heat, Heat to Room Temperature."

"Nice."

"So what's this new book about?"

"Me. Her. Love."

She reached for his hand as they both stared ahead out at an ocean that never changed but always did. "What's it called?"

"I don't know."

"How does it end?"

"I don't know", he said again.

"Is it helping?"

"Yes."

"Then it's already a favourite of mine."

He let go of her hand and pulled her close to him in a hug. They stayed that way until the sun began to sink below the waves.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading. :)**_


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Thank you loads for reading and reviewing. Hope you like this next instalment. It's almost ****gooey with sugary love. Almost.**

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**Chapter Twelve: Something In The Way**

"Aruba? Castle's laying low in Aruba!" Esposito said shaking his head. "Lucky bastard."

"Yeah. Figures he wouldn't pick someplace less than amazing." Ryan added as he joined Beckett and Esposito in the break room. He poured himself a mug of black coffee, then sat at the circular table with them.

"Okay, so my reason for telling you guys this is that I'm taking some vacation time. I'm going to get away for a few days." She spoke in a rush, her cheeks annoyingly warm with the knowledge that it wouldn't take her fellow detectives long to put two and two together.

"You're going to see Castle." Ryan stated, no hint of a question or surprise evident in his tone.

"Yes. We need to sort some things out."

"Well it's 'bout time, Chica." Esposito smiled smugly as he held out his hand, his outstretched palm inches from Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan reached into his back pocket, retrieved his wallet and pulled out $20. He slapped it into his friend's hand and sighed.

"Told you Bro." Esposito said as he pocketed the cash.

Beckett looked from one man to the other. Was she really that transparent? Also, how long had this bet been in play? From the time Richard Castle stepped into the Twelfth, or was it a more recent wager? No way she was about to ask; she was just grateful they weren't firing questions at her, or worse, patting her on the back for finally seeing sense.

"So, I'm leaving soon. As I said, I'll be gone a few days."

"Don't rush back on our account. We got things covered here." Esposito said with a nod of his head; his eyes finding Ryan's.

"You guys are good now, right?" She asked, a real sense of relief flooding through her when Ryan smiled and nodded yes.

"Yeah. Things are good. I was a jerk." Esposito took a sip of his coffee and then slid the sugar over to Ryan.

"Yeah. He was a jerk. It is what it is." Ryan grinned and heaped three spoons of white sugar into his hot coffee. He figured what Jenny didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

"Okay, then." Beckett said, mentally packing her suitcase and figuring out the best route to the airport.

Esposito edged forwards, his voice just north of a whisper. "Just so you know, Beckett. Not that it should matter to you, but we approve."

"Castle's a good guy. And you and him…you fit, you know?" Ryan said; realising the moment he opened his mouth that he really wasn't sure where he hoped to steer that particular train of thought.

"Um, thanks, Ryan."

"Ryan's right, Beckett. You guys have something good. Everyone can see it."

Beckett sighed; this was not the direction in which she imagined this conversation going. She needed to shut this down. Both men were sitting there grinning at her. It was unnerving.

Just at that moment, the embodiment of a gift from the universe, Captain Gates breezed in. "I'm assuming that you're all sitting in here because you solved the Peterson murder."

"We're running some leads. We got feelers out, Sir," Esposito said, as he finished his coffee in a long, burning mouthful.

"Well, I suggest you get back to it. It's like I said in my briefing this morning – there's no overtime budget this quarter. But no overtime doesn't mean…doesn't mean what, detectives?"

"A dip in our clearance rate," Ryan and Esposito said in unison.

Beckett hid her smile behind the rim of her NYPD coffee mug, but she too followed orders. Just as she was almost through the break room door, Ryan and Esposito steps ahead of her, Gates beckoned her back.

"I just wanted to tell you that the D.A. called with an update. Lafferty's Preliminary Hearing has been convened for next Wednesday. It's unlikely that you'll be needed, but…"

"I'll be back Monday," Beckett said firmly.

"Thank you." Gates walked over to the fridge and pulled out one of those homemade smoothies of which she was so fond. Beckett tried not to cringe when the other woman knocked back a few healthy glugs of the moss-green mixture.

"You best get going, Detective. Traffic to JFK will be gridlocked if you don't leave soon."

"I have a couple of things I need to tie up here before I go."

"Things those two out there can help you with?" Gates said pointedly.

"Yeah, sure."

"Then I suggest you leave them to it. Go on, Beckett. Get out of here."

**xxx**

Castle asked the cab driver to drop him off about a mile out from the beach house. He wanted to walk the rest of the way. He needed to clear his head, and if he was completely honest with himself, he was in no rush to return to an empty house. His daughter's absence always left a perfectly formed, quickly familiar hole in his heart, and he didn't feel ready to begin to deal with the pain. He wouldn't even have his mother to help take his mind of how much he missed Alexis, because she had her own plans with 'Uncle Harry'. So he'd put it off. He'd wander the beach, because he knew the moment he walked into the house that the silence would be deafening.

Slipping off his shoes and socks, he followed the curve of the ever-retreating ocean as it wound its way to where he didn't want to go. What was he going to do? He would head back to New York, for sure, but what then? What about _them_? It had been months and months since that night they spent together, and while every moment spent apart from her drove him to utter distraction, he couldn't be sure that's how it had been for her. But there_ was_ a part of him that believed she missed him like he missed her. That she loved him like he loved her...

The late afternoon sun had warmed the sand beneath his feet to an uncomfortable temperature, so he walked closer to the shoreline. The cool, wet sand was a welcome relief, and as he looked down, his toes sank into the soft whiteness and then reappeared.

_There was something in the way she reached for him in that hospital waiting room. There was something in the way she held his hands and wanted him close. It was about more than that one night. It was about four years of growing closer. Four years of falling in love._

**xxx**

Gates was right. The traffic over the bridge and out to JFK was just shy of brutal. She only just made her flight. Beckett rested back into her seat. It would take a little over three hours until she made it to Miami, then she needed to race to make her connection to Aruba. All being well, she would be just a taxi ride away from him by midnight. She waited until the usual safety demonstration had finished and then she closed her eyes. The pain meds she was taking for her arm left her feeling weary most of the time and she was looking forward to having the opportunity to sleep for an hour or two.

The trouble was, she discovered some time later, having tried and failed to sleep, that she was too wired to relax. What was she going to say to him when she reached his house? What would he say to her? It had been months and months since that night they had finally given into what had been staring them in the face all along. She still felt it. Did he?

Kate opened her eyes and sighed. _Did he still feel the same way about her? _She thought about the way he pulled her into his arms at the hospital just a couple of days earlier. There was something in the way he touched her, looked at her, spoke to her, that made her believe that he did.

**xxx**

Later:

Castle stared out at the rolling ocean. Night had long since fallen, and the water, under the moon's transforming light, lapped at the sand in unrelenting silvery patterns. Swaths of cool silver encroached on the beach, running out of energy just feet from the run of stilts that kept the beach house safe from the sea. He was alone. He _felt_ alone.

He'd tried writing, but his heart wasn't in it. Reading didn't come any easier. He went for a swim in the pool, hoping to tire himself out. It hadn't worked. Then he'd tried sleeping, but after an hour of tossing and turning, he'd given up. Seeing Beckett again made him realise that there was never going to be anyone else for him. It was as simple as that. She was what he wanted, what he needed. He had never met anyone that cut to the core of him, who brushed aside his defences which kept other women at arms length, even the ones he ended up marrying. She knew him, actually saw him as he was – she saw past the fame and the perfected charm and his every other attempt at camouflage, to the man underneath. He couldn't hide from her, nor did he want to. It was liberating to be seen.

He believed he saw her, too. He saw the professional, brave, uncompromising cop who sought justice for others because she cared enough to see past her own heartbreak and wanted to right every little piece of wrong she could. He saw the woman behind the uniform. He saw the tough, smart, funny, loving, sexy, challenging, loyal and extraordinary woman who kissed him so urgently that night so many months ago, the woman who told him she wanted him, the woman who saved him.

_What was she doing right then? How had things gone with Lafferty? Was she thinking about him? _It was driving him insane – the not knowing.

Castle rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to rub away the ticking in his head. He was wasting time. He should've said goodbye to Alexis and then boarded his own plane out of there. He should be pounding on Beckett's front door right that minute. He should be telling her that nothing was going to get in their way this time.

**xxx**

The drastic difference in temperature was going to take some getting used to. New York had been hovering around the freezing mark pretty much most of the day, and so once the plane doors opened, the balmy night air that greeted her was a shock to the system. She walked down the steps, her carry-on suitcase in one hand, clutching her black leather jacket and her purse in the other. It was a short walk to the terminal building and she fought the urge to run. Now she was here, she just wanted to see him. Having to wait another second felt too long.

The magical sight of a line of white taxis waiting for hire once she cleared Customs at Oranjestad and had made it outside again, made her heart soar. She climbed inside the one idling at the head of the line and reeled off the beach house address that she'd committed to memory.

**xxx**

Castle's arms were cold and his legs stiff from standing in the same position for too long, but it was doing him good being out on the deck. The sea air was helping him to relax, to breathe easier. Behind him, the glass doors to his bedroom stood wide open. His bed was a mess of twisted sheets and his laptop glowed from somewhere underneath the white cotton. The next flight to New York didn't leave until late morning, and he'd booked a ticket online before climbing out of bed.

The roar of the ocean almost masked the sound of a car pulling up at the other side of the beach house. He listened for the metallic slide and click of keys working the lock, but instead, he heard a knock. Wondering why his mother had returned much earlier than planned, he walked through his bedroom and out into the hall. The knock came again.

"I'm coming. I'm coming", he said loudly as he hurried through the still, dark kitchen and made his way over to the glazed front doors. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her standing there. He couldn't move. "Kate", he said, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I was hoping we could talk", she said breathlessly.

Castle couldn't seem to make his feet move. He was scared she'd disappear if he moved another inch closer. Dreams were tricky like that.

"Um…can I?" Beckett motioned towards the locked doors.

Suddenly he was moving. He opened the doors. He reached for her as she reached out for him. They stood there at the top of the run of worn wooden steps, holding each other and marvelling at how good it felt with nothing in the way.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading. :)**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**AN: Many thanks to JSQ79 for reading this chapter over. NCIS and Bones fans out there, go read her work. Go. Now. **_

_**I dedicate this chapter to brookemopolitan, and she knows why.**_

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**Chapter Thirteen: Ice Breaking**

He couldn't believe she was here. He'd waged a silent battle with himself for much of last night (because sleep did not come easy) not to open the door to the spare room and check that she was actually there. If his mother could see him now, she'd undoubtedly shake her head and laugh. She'd chastise him for being suspicious, unbelieving of reality, while on the other hand, always, actively, being receptive, encouraging of the fantastical. For Richard Castle, the presence, the reality of Kate Beckett, was going to take some getting used to.

Take this morning, for example. It was the way she read the newspaper, while at the same time scrambling eggs and regaling him with funny stories from the Twelfth – stories he'd missed so much – that had him questioning reality. Then later, once the sun had lost the sting of its power, they'd gone for a walk along the beach, and she had undone her sloppily arranged ponytail and shaken out her long hair, letting the sea breeze rush through the honeyed brown strands. And just a few moments ago, when she kissed him on the cheek and told him that this day was one of the best days of her life. See? Reality didn't work that way. Reality couldn't possibly feel this good.

Castle carried their empty wine glasses through to the kitchen and rinsed them in the sink. They'd gotten through the best part of a bottle of red each. And they had talked. Really talked. They picked over the evidence against Lafferty, about the upcoming trial, and they each spoke with quiet determination and confidence. Castle filled Kate in on Martha's whirlwind romance and about Alexis's trip and move to London. They didn't once talk about what all these changes meant for them but Castle was in no doubt that they would navigate those changes together.

And now she had gone to bed. Alone. He set the glasses upside down on the draining rack next to the sink and dried his hands on a towel. He wasn't sure what he should do, and what _she _might be expecting him to do, or say, about their sleeping arrangements. Last night, when she turned up at his door, she was exhausted, and they were both too wired, too clumsy around each other to do any more than live through the moment. He had shown her to the guest room, her hand in his as they walked, and she had smiled when he bent to place a kiss on her forehead. She looked up at him then, and he wondered if he should kiss her again, kiss her the way he wanted to, but he held back. Then she was closing the door and he was walking down the corridor and into his own bedroom.

Today they smiled easier, but they still weren't quite 'them'. It was odd, he thought, she had flown two thousand miles to be with him, and he was about to do the very same thing so that he could be with her, but now that physical distance wasn't an issue anymore, they couldn't seem to take that final step closer. They were being polite, tactful. There wasn't any banter. No snap and crackle, and definitely no pop. Banter, the way they did it, often meant they challenged the other person. They goaded, prodded, and flat out ridiculed each other, but that dynamic didn't lend itself to this careful reunion they had going on.

It was driving him nuts.

Castle tossed the towel onto the rack next to the wine glasses and made his way out of the kitchen and towards the bedrooms. He paused outside her door, his hand lightly gripping the handle, but then he walked the next few steps to his own room.

**xxx**

The Next Day

Beckett settled in comfortably on her sun lounger and took a deep, contented breath. She may have only been on the island for a couple of days, but with every passing minute she felt the tension slip away. The early afternoon sun felt amazing against her exposed skin, and she felt rested, calm and more than pleased to be free of her heavy winter coat and fur-lined boots. She flexed her toes, and the slight pull in her calf muscles felt good, warm, and supple. God, she adored the sun. It made everything better.

She looked around and smiled. Trust Castle to land on his feet. He may have had to flee his giant loft in New York, but this wasn't by any means a come down. The place was freaking perfection. The beach house was like something out of one of those crazy-expensive magazines that Lanie loved so much. An interior designer had obviously worked their magic on the inside, though they'd done so with a deft, understated touch that gave the appearance that the colour scheme, the furniture and drapes and cushions had been thrown together, and it was only by chance that they equalled something beautiful. The same could be said for the outside pool area. The rattan sun lounger she sat on was covered with light grey-and-white-striped cushions, the small poolside bar to her right was highly-polished teak, she guessed, and the large off-white non-slip tiles that covered the entire floor area provided crisp contrast to the deep blue of the large curvy swimming pool. It was pure Castle. It was tastefully flash and bold, but at the same time, calming and fun.

Just then, he wandered back into view. She wondered if he knew she was looking at him from behind her 'Jackie O' sunglasses. Could he see her eyes roaming his body as he strode towards her, wearing only those ridiculous pink and green Bermuda shorts and a smile? If he could, he didn't let on.

"Thought you might be thirsty, Detective."

She took the tall glass of chilled fruity pinkness and brought the black straw to her lips. It was delicious.

"Good?" He asked.

She nodded and took two more greedy sips.

"So, I've been thinking…" He pulled up a sun lounger and perched on the end of it, leaning in, his bare, tanned stomach level with her maroon painted toes. "It might be nice to go out somewhere tonight. There's a big parade and festival in town later. I thought maybe we could check it out."

"Are you asking me out on a date, Castle."

"A date, or a night out with a friend. It can be whatever you want."

He watched as she placed her hands at the sides of the sun lounger and reclined until she was fully horizontal. Then she stretched lazily - her injured arm resting at her side, her good arm raised above her head, bent at the elbow so that her forearm and hand dangled off the end, her fingers just centimetres from the tiled floor. He didn't even try to look away. Not even for a second. It simply wasn't going to happen. He was enjoying this game of cat and mouse they had going on. It was a marked change in gears from yesterday.

"Interesting", she said.

He continued to stare down at her; captivated by the way the word left her full lips in a soft and undoubtedly deliberate sigh. "So is that a "yes"? He managed.

"It's a yes."

Castle swallowed hard and hoped to god his tongue wasn't hanging out. Then he placed his own drink under the headrest of his lounger, to keep it as cool as possible, and walked over the pool. He chanced one more admiring look at her before diving into the perfectly still water. It was clear to him now: he was the mouse.

His tall frame speared through the blue, and with just a few hard kicks, he managed a length of the pool completely underwater. The whole time, he was trying to rid his mind of the sight of Beckett in that black bikini, stretching cat-like under the early afternoon sun. But it was a fruitless exercise. He knew it, and she knew it. He broke the surface of the water and without even looking in her direction he swam back the other way.

Beckett propped herself up on her elbow, now resting her injured arm on her stomach and watched as he swam lengths of the pool. His tanned, muscular arms cut into the water and eased out again. His freestyle kick was consistent, strong, and as she watched, she worried her bottom lip against her teeth. He was an excellent swimmer. She'd never tell him so, but this surprised her. Castle had never struck her as the sporty type. He was more interested in watching sport than taking part, but here he was doing fast laps of the pool like it was nothing. What else didn't she know about him? What other assumptions had she made that would turn out to be falsehoods? She was looking forward to finding out.

Maybe she'd start tonight, because they were going on a date, an honest-to-goodness date. It was cute the way he'd asked. He'd given her an 'out' - but while he might think she needed one, she knew she didn't. Two nights spent sleeping alone was enough. The first night she needed her space, the second night, she should've been clear about what she wanted.

**xxx**

Finally exhausted, Castle climbed out the pool and walked over to his sun lounger. Beckett was lying on her back, her massive glasses, which made her look like a beautiful fly, still in place. He wished she'd take them off. Maybe then he could read her better. He made a meal out of taking a seat, and in the process purposely shook droplets of water onto her bare stomach and thighs, which in turn made her squeal, sit up, remove her glasses and curse at him. Mission accomplished.

"Sorry, Beckett."

"Don't apologise when you know as well as I do that you did that on purpose."

"I didn't mean to get you wet, I promise."

"Well, you _did_. God, Castle", she said wincing as she smoothed her hands over her stomach and rubbed the cold droplets into her skin. "Look at me? I'm all wet now. Are you happy?"

When he said nothing in response, she looked at him. "What? What are you grinning at?"

"Nothing." He waggled his eyebrows and then slid his own sunglasses into place.

"Oh, I get it. You're twelve."

He said nothing more, just got himself settled on the lounger, laid back, and relaxed. He closed his eyes, expecting her to lie back down. When he didn't hear her moving, he peeked at her out the corner of his eye, half-expecting to see her standing over him, a bucket of ice water in her hands, but instead she was looking him over. Her eyes, now uncovered, slowly scanned his broad chest and settled somewhere around his navel.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

"What? Oh, shut-up, Castle."

"Just sayin'. Seeing as the sight of my bronzed, manly body is so absorbing, maybe you'd like to take a picture, so you'll be able to remember me, always."

"I've seen enough. Thank you."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Like you haven't been staring at my boobs since I came out wearing this thing."

"Sure, I might have peeked a time or two."

"A time or two! I'm surprised you aren't cross-eyed."

"Maybe I am", he lifted up his sunglasses to reveal his crossed eyes.

Beckett threw her head back and laughed. He was ridiculous.

"What can I say? I like looking at you, Beckett."

"I like looking at you, too," she admitted shyly, but with an easy smile still firmly in place.

"Well okay, then."

This particular section of ice broken, they each held the other's stare for a few customary seconds longer than necessary, before Beckett picked up her glasses and put them back on. Then, she too, settled back on the sun lounger and closed her eyes. Moments later, she felt him touch her hand. His fingers covered her own, and she held on.

* * *

**_Thanks for reading. :)_**


	14. Chapter 14

_**AN: Yeah, so it's been some time since I added an update to this story. I'm sorry for that. For those still reading, not to worry, the final chapter is written and has been subjected to JSQ's keen eye. It'll be up soon.**_

_**Thanks for reading. :)**_

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Parada di Luz **

Nervous excitement made him fumble with the lock on the front door as they left the beach house and stepped into the honeyed early evening light and then anticipation rendered him uncharacteristically taciturn for most the cab ride into Oranjestad. Castle normally hated feeling so out of control, but knowing that he was sitting next to the only woman who'd ever made him feel this way made blew his mind, because things could so easily have been different. His absence could have driven them apart forever and her earlier determination to discover the truth behind her mother's murder, despite his pleading with her to put her own life first, could have ended them. But here they were. Stronger together than apart. Happier together than apart. And finally, finally, on the same page.

Their exuberantly chatty taxi driver dropped them off outside Hotel Tivoli. Castle paid the fare and then leapt from the cab, racing round to open the other passenger door. He watched, his throat suddenly dry, when Beckett's feet appeared clad in brown leather strappy sandals, followed by her slender ankles, and then miles upon miles of smooth, toned skin. With his head cocked to one side, his eyes lingered over every inch of her long legs. When she'd finally emerged from the cab (because in his mind, she did so in slow motion and also to the beat of that old "Exile" song, "Kiss You All Over"), he was debating whether an evening out really was the best thing they could be doing right now.

"Wow." Beckett said breathlessly as she looked up and down the bustling main street of the island's capital, and noticed that every building, every lamppost and all the trees were alive with brightly coloured lights. "It's so beautiful."

He reached for her hand at the same moment she reached for his and together they wound their way in and out of the hundreds of people gathering there. Beckett, her fingers laced with Castle's, let him steer them to the top of the main street before turning left, and then left again. They entered a narrow street. The buildings running along both sides loomed high above them and Beckett was grateful for the temporary shade it offered, because despite the fact that evening had arrived, the sun still burned lazily in the sky. It was quieter here. The afro-Latin jazz, which, every few songs or so, gave way to bursts of calypso-inspired music and old style salsa and merengue, was still audible, still energizing, but here they could actually hold a conversation.

"So where are we going?" Beckett asked as they walked along the grey stoned street, the sounds of their footsteps a dull intermittent echo. "First, we eat." Castle replied. "I've booked us a table the finest restaurant on the island. They serve the best seafood you've ever tasted. After, I thought we could watch the Parade and dance the night away, all the while trying not to look like uncoordinated and laughably un-cool tourists."

"Speak for yourself, Castle. I know how to dance."

"I'll bet." He smiled when she rolled her eyes at his lecherous tone.

"If you ask nicely, I might teach you," she said as they climbed a set of stone steps before cutting across what appeared to Kate to be a small park. The sun's rays immediately sought her out and she was grateful when they again ducked back down another alleyway.

"You know, I'm a quick study, always have been. You only have to show me how to do something once, Beckett, and after that I'll get it right every time."

"Good to know." Kate said, looking at him out the corner of her eye, her lips curving into an enigmatic smile.

"Beckett, are you flirting with me?"

"Hardly."

"So a little, then?"

"Not even a little. Believe me, Castle, you'll know it if I do."

"I will?" He kept right on staring at her and adored the fact that she let her gloriously sexy smile do her talking.

A few minutes later, they arrived at "Lyman's Bar & Grill". Beckett felt her stomach groan in anticipation as the smell of char-grilled fish, garlic and spices swirled all around her.

"Good evening, Sir and Madam, could I please ask if you have a booking with us tonight?" The young woman greeting them glanced around nervously, preparing, Castle figured, to have to turn another party of people away. The place was jammed.

"Good evening. Yes, we do, under the name of…"

"Castle?"

Castle turned round at the sound of a familiar voice calling his name, and smiled warmly when Harry walked over to greet him. "You came," the older man said shaking his hand.

"I've heard great things and besides, you were the only restaurant willing to give me a table tonight."

"Well, you did pick one of the busiest nights of the year, Rick"

"But luckily I know the owner. Good guy. Engaged to my mother."

Harry smiled and then flat out beamed when Castle introduced him to his date for the evening. "So you're the famous Detective Beckett. I've heard wonderful things from Martha, and from Rick. It is my absolute pleasure to have you here tonight."

"Please call me "Kate"."

Harry promised that he would and then stepped in closer to her before taking her hand and kissing it. "You know, Rick told me you were beautiful but I'm not sure that one word does you justice, my dear."

Castle smiled at the delicate blush that started to appear on Beckett's cheeks. Harry really was adept at dispensing that endearing old-school charm. "Shall we?" Castle motioned ahead, and then followed on behind Beckett as they became one with the crowded bustle of the restaurant.

**xxx**

Beckett, despite being completely full, had managed, just, to finish off her spiced pineapple and rum cocktail. Now, and an unconscious gesture, her left hand settled on her stomach as she strolled alongside Castle as they made their way back to the Parade.

"Wow. You weren't kidding, Castle. That was so good," she said.

"Wasn't it? God, those shrimp were fantastic."

"Yes! Ooh, and the Callaloo was delicious. It was all wonderful," Beckett said, her words ending on a contented sigh. Ever since she set foot on the island, she had felt the pulsing anxiety she'd been carrying around for so long begin to dissipate. And now, the closer they got to the centre of town, music began to fill the air all around her, and with Castle as her side the last vestiges of tension slid off her and melted into the stone ground beneath her feet. She felt less and less like a detective and more and more like a woman on vacation. Her badge was locked inside her suitcase back at the beach house and it felt really good to be free of it.

"Thank you for dinner…and this night…this is just what I needed. I'm having a great time, Castle."

"Me too," he replied, squeezing her hand a little as they continued on their path back to the parade route.

Castle's hand felt warm against her own. His much larger fingers encased hers, and occasionally, his thumb brushed across the top of her hand, and every time he did that, she had to stifle the urge to hold her breath. And what was with his damn cologne? It was absolutely the right kind of distracting (she hated it when men overdid it). She could pick out a citrusy smell and also something earthy, spicy, maybe. Whatever it was, it made her full stomach clench in anticipation…if he smelled this good now, she could only imagine how amazing he'd smell up close. And, god, she wanted to get up close to him. She wanted to breathe him in, slow and deep.

He towered over her tonight. Her strappy sandals were completely flat; those four or five inches of missing height, she noticed, bringing the top of her head in line with his mouth. She thought about kissing him then, thought about stopping him as they walked along, and kissing him as the increasingly loud carnival music swirled all around them. She imagined standing on tiptoes, reaching out to slide her hands around his neck and pulling him down, closer, until her lips found his…and then…

"Beckett?"

"Huh," she said, her voice hushed, her mind still fixated on what it would be like to kiss him again.

"I was just asking you if you wanted my jacket, now that the sun has almost gone down."

"Oh. No. I'm good, Castle. But thanks." The sun might be about to disappear but the fragrant, warm evening air closed in around her. She was glad that she'd chosen to wear her simple black sundress. The spaghetti straps rubbed a little against the mild sunburn that covered her shoulders, but apart from that, the silky, cool material made her feel almost naked.

"Okay, but if you change your mind, just ask."

Beckett nodded as they turned a corner and strolled down one of the narrowest streets they'd encountered. The rolling chimes of steel drums set against a backdrop of the pumping bass of dance music seemed to reverberate off the stone walls either side of them, and Beckett stretched out her free hand and ran it along the slightly dusty stone, sensing, perhaps foolishly, that the beat lived inside the walls, as it, at that moment, seemed to exist within her. She looked over at Castle who was staring straight ahead, a generous smile etched on his face, his blue eyes twinkling in the half-light. Suddenly, he moved to the left, letting go of her hand. She looked down at her empty hand wondering why he had let her go, when she head footsteps, lots of them, heading towards them. She looked up just in time to move quickly aside as three women wearing feather headdresses and pink bejewelled bikinis rushed by them. "This place is crazy," Beckett said smiling as she took a couple of steps backward, her mostly bare back coming into contact with the cool wall behind her. She stared after the women, their high heels striking the cobbled street in a confused series of echoing clicks. "God, New York feels like a lifetime away." Castle, who had flattened himself against the wall opposite, nodded his agreement. Then, seemingly not willing to be parted from her for a second longer, he stepped forward so that the only thing separating them were the clothes they wore. "The truth is that I'm still having a hard time believing you're here with me."

Beckett's fingers traced the perfectly tailored edges of his charcoal grey shirt collar, and she leaned in close to whisper: "Would kissing you convince you that I'm real?"

"Probably not," he breathed. "In fact, it might have the contrary effect."

"Pity."

Beckett shot him her best flirty smile and made to pull away, but his hands suddenly found her waist, and then he was kissing her. She kissed him back just as eagerly, just as honestly.

**xxx**

Castle was a fan of carnival parades, always had been. And this one was a visual treat on a giant scale. Float after float went by, all of them lit up against the now night sky and resembling, to him, curiously kitsch spaceships. They were moving displays of colour and dancing, each decorated with tiny sparkling lights and swathes of variously coloured fabrics that caught the slight breeze and billowed like sails. His arm rested around Beckett's shoulders, her body positioned slightly in front of him so that her leg rested against his. They had been standing like that for the past hour or so and every now and again the breeze would whip up her hair (because wind could totally do that, despite his partner's snide observation to the contrary) and he got caught up wondering if it smelled of coconut or vanilla, maybe both. And now and again she swayed in time to the music - it was also in those moments that the noise, the movement, the life happening all around him paled into the background. She had a fantastic body. She knew how to move, that was more than clear. Not able to deny himself any longer, he moved his hand off her shoulder and around and down onto her breastbone, in the process pulling her tighter to him. With his other hand, he swept aside her long wavy hair and brought his mouth to the side of her neck. He felt her tense a little as she realised what he was doing, but she quickly relaxed against him and he took that as a green light to continue. Up close she smelled amazing, so sexy and Beckett'ish. His lips brushed against her, his tongue skimming her warm skin. Responding immediately, she reached behind her and sought the back of his neck, her hands raking softly through his hair.

"Did I ever tell you that I love parades, Beckett?" he whispered against her neck.

"Mmm, no…no, I don't think you did."

"Well I do. A lot."

"Okay," she sighed, her breath catching as his lips applied more pressure.

"But I'd be willing to miss the end of this one."

"You would?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"So what are you saying, Castle?"

"I'm saying that I want to take you to bed. I'm saying that I can't wait any longer."

Suddenly, she was facing him, her hands around his waist, her body warm and supple in his arms. He kissed her hungrily, not caring who might be watching them at that moment. His hand cupped her cheek, his mouth moving against hers in all the ways he'd dreamed about. When they finally kissed a little slower, when they finally paused to take a breath, she whispered, "Let's get out of here, Castle."


	15. Chapter 15

_**So this is the end. Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, alerted and favourited. **_

_**I think this may well be my last Castle fic (sorry to those reading "A New Perspective", but I'm just not sure I'll get that done) and so it feels good to leave these two characters with a happy ending.**_

_**My thanks to JSQ for reading this over for me and for telling me all those months ago that I should post this thing. **_

_**Cheers,**_

_**BA**_

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Home**

It's funny how something once associated with upset and regret can, with changed circumstances, become one of the happiest times of your life. As Castle rested back into his first class seat, he stole a look at the woman sitting next to him. He almost couldn't believe it. Besides, it wasn't as if he was immune to imagining happy endings where none existed. He'd survived school doing that very thing. And this _did _feel too good to be true.

He left New York never expecting to see her again, but here she was. He left New York broken, scared and so full of regret that it threatened to choke the life out of him, but now he felt excited, hopeful and so alive with happiness.

Beckett snuggled in next to him, her head falling on his shoulder.

"I can't wait to get home", he said softly, as he inhaled the coconut (not vanilla), sunny scent of her hair and closed his eyes.

Beckett reached for his hand and ran her fingers across the warm skin of his palm, smiling as he closed his larger fingers around hers. Just the simple act of holding his hand had her heart jumping about in her chest. And being so close to him, breathing him in, calmed her. She closed her eyes and thought, not for the first time since Maddox had thrown her off that ledge, about how love isn't something to hold at bay because you fear it. She'd spent too long wanting Castle, loving him without really believing that they could make it work. And she knew now that by far the scariest thing is never to try.

The powerful engines located under their seats thrummed and whirred and sent them hurtling down the runway at Miami International Airport. The jet took off into the early morning blue sky, its wings effortlessly cutting through the air. A short time later, once the seat belt lights had been switched off, a female flight attendant, holding a tray of champagne, trekked a familiar path down the aisle next to them. She paused, wondering whether to wake the sleeping couple to ask if they wanted a glass, but they looked so peaceful, so content, that she passed them by.

They slept, not once letting go of the others' hand, until the plane started its descent into John. F. Kennedy airport.

Castle stirred, smiling in that dreamlike state that cushions wakefulness and sleep. He opened his eyes a minute or so later and looked to his left, out of the tiny window. His heart soared as he saw the familiar cityscape below. Only this time, every rooftop, every straight line of road and every open area of ground was blanketed in white.

Home.

Kissing the top of her head, he released her hand and then bent forward to whisper her name. "Kate. "Kate. We're nearly home."

Beckett didn't want to open her eyes. She was just so comfortable. First class seats sure did put economy seats to shame. Besides which, his arm and chest were warm and soft, and he smelled so good. No. She didn't want to move an inch.

"Kate," he tried again.

"I'm asleep, Castle".

"Then how come you're talking to me?"

"Because I'm a woman. I can multi-task."

She knew he was grinning and probably trying to think of a pithy reply. Really, it was bordering on obsessive how he always wanted to have the last word. She waited.

"This is true."

Wait. That was _really_ all he had to say?

"Beckett, I want you to see this. It's beautiful."

"What is?"

"New York. Come on, open your eyes."

"I've seen it before."

"Yeah, but like _this_?"

She opened her eyes, the muted lighting in the cabin was welcome. Begrudgingly, she sat up straight in her seat, and then looked out the window next to him. Whiteness stretched as far the eye could see.

"It looks beautiful", she said. "Beautiful but cold."

"You know what I wish we could do?"

"What?" She leaned in closer, trying to pick out well-known landmarks in amongst the glistening white uniformity.

"I wish we could land on the rooftops and get out and run around on all that untouched snow."

"Huh?"

"Come on. You know you want to."

"I do not."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Castle." She loved getting a rise out of him.

Before he could cross-examine her further, the seat belt lights pinged back on, and their Captain's disembodied voice announced that they would be landing in approximately fifteen minutes time.

**xxx**

They had been back for five days and the snow that had begun to thaw just the day before now formed an icy base to the fresh covering that was growing inch by inch before her eyes. She was sitting at his desk, her laptop open in front of her, but the scene outside the large study window was distracting her from her work. She had two reports to finish before the morning, and because the Twelfth was like an icebox, she'd left early with the aim of finishing her work at home. But just as she was leaving the precinct, her phone rang. It was Castle, inviting her over for the night. She didn't even contemplate saying no, this despite the fact that since returning from Aruba she'd spent the grand total of maybe thirty minutes at home. Long enough to stuff some work clothes, a hairdryer and some toiletries into a bag. As she'd turned her key in the lock (her key!) and stepped into the spacious apartment, she was met with warmth, silence and the overwhelming urge to smile. So she did.

That smile had long since worn thin as she struggled to concentrate on the reports. It wasn't just the weather that vied for her attention; it was Castle. She wasn't prepared to feel this way, at least not so early on in their relationship. She wanted to dive in with both feet. She didn't want to spend another night away from him and, judging by his attempts to invent every kind of excuse for why she didn't need to leave his apartment, he felt the same way.

Because really, what was standing in their way now? Lafferty hadn't made bail, nor would he see the outside of a prison cell for the rest of his natural life. Martha, who had stayed in Aruba, would be married in just two short months and Alexis was striking out on her own. They were alone in that giant loft. Blissfully alone.

She went back to typing up her report, her fingers striking keys with accuracy and practised speed. She wanted to be through with work by the time he got home. Maybe she'd cook for him tonight. Every other evening since getting back, they'd ordered in – they hadn't once managed to finish their meal before reaching for each other. Tonight it would different. Tonight, they would talk about where they were headed.

...But they never did. Not really. Instead, they dived in. They trusted in this crazy love that had prodded and poked at them since the very beginning, and despite her natural inclination towards scepticism, even cynicism, she found it was true what they say: all you need is love.

**xxx**

It was six months later, on a lazy Sunday morning, with the smell of fresh coffee in the air that Nikki Heat died. Beckett turned to the final page of "Dead Heat" and her eyes scanned the last few words. In true Richard Castle fashion, he'd killed off his heroine. Sort of. He couldn't actually bring himself to kill Nikki, but in order to bring the series of books to a close, at least for the moment; he had her fake her own death and escape into the shadows with the roguishly handsome Jameson Rook. Beckett teased him about his life so obviously mirroring his art, but he couldn't be dissuaded from writing Nikki a happy ending, no matter Beckett's insistence that Detective Heat would be just fine without Rook.

She closed the book and with it said a silent goodbye to the woman who inhabited its pages, a woman that was part her, part Castle. "It's brilliant," she told him proudly, as he walked from the kitchen, a mug of steaming coffee in each hand and came and sat beside her on the sofa.

"I'm glad you liked it. I wanted to do Nikki justice. And this way, you never know, she may just make a reappearance."

"I'll miss her."

"I'll miss you," he said seriously. She rested her head against his shoulder and smiled when he placed a kiss on the top of her head. "It won't be the same…not going into the Twelfth every day."

"Maybe I'll be able to get some work done now," Beckett joked, but the truth was that she'd been dreading the day his research came to an end. He'd been following her around for so long and was so embedded within the team that they would all feel his loss. She knew he didn't want to walk away either, but it was time. He was working on another novel. All he would tell her was that it was about them. No alter egos, no dramatic license, no murder cases, no distractions, just his words placed in an order that seemed to make him happier than she'd ever seen him.

"Was I really that much of a distraction?"

"How can you even ask me that question," she grinned, her head still on his shoulder.

"Practised self-delusion," he replied, before placing his mug on the table next to the book, its glossy cover depicting a very naked Nikki Heat lying across the words "Dead Heat". "Now for something new." She sat up, and he felt around the edge of the sofa, straining to reach for something. She took a sip of her coffee. It was perfect, just like the hundreds and hundreds he'd bought or made for her before.

"This…this is what I've been working on." Castle held out a book to her. The cover was white; the only hint of colour filled the letters that spanned its middle. The muted violet title was raised and its edges were smooth and cool beneath her fingers. It was simple. Beautiful.

"You had it printed, already?"

"This is the only copy. I want to know what you think before I ask Black Pawn to release it."

"Wow. Okay." Kate stared at the book's title, her heart racing. This was _their_ story. She brushed her fingers across the title again, _"The Lighting Parade,"_ she read aloud. Then she turned to the first page and her heart slowed and found a rhythm that she knew would last a lifetime.

She read the dedication:

"_Kate -_

_How I feel about you and how your love makes me feel is woven into every word of this book. You are the beginning, middle and end. _

_Be with me, always?_

_R"_

"Well," he asked, his voice shaking a little, as he turned to face her, taking her hands in his as he did so.

"I think it's going to be the best thing you've ever written."

"I know that already." He grinned for half a breath, but his expression quickly turned serious again. "I was referring to the dedication."

"So was I," she replied, her eyes shining bright with happy, soon-to-fall tears.

"Oh."

"Oh? It's not like you to be lost for words, Castle."

"I'm not lost for words...I'm just..." Kate closed the small distance between them and he fell silent as she placed the fingers of her left hand against his cheek, urging him closer still. Then, knowing that this was the easiest promise she'd ever have to keep, she kissed her answer onto his lips.

**THE END**

* * *

**Thanks for reading. :)**

**Any New Girl fans out there? Just to say that I've started something new for that show. It's called "Alter Egos" - would be lovely if you checked it out.**


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